Momma's Boy
by toujours vomir
Summary: Axel has grown up in the system, abandoned by his drug addict mother whom he remains bitter towards. And after twenty years, by happenstance he meets her again, both living very different lives surrounded by very different people. Among them, a boy named Roxas, whom Axel can't help but to both love and hate. How much love does a person need before they feel whole again?
1. prologue

**A/N**: I've been out of the fan fiction game for too long. But I'm giving it another shot. This one's for you, mom.

Cover art is property of organizationproblems at tumblr.

* * *

_prologue;  
_**step on a crack**

* * *

There is nothing sleazier than subconsciously romanticizing the burning plastic and crotch-rot stank of your mother's crack cocaine habit. But since I was about three years old, the smell always felt like _home_, the same way that maybe the smell of their momma's homemade cooking made other's feel. But the only thing my momma cooked was rock, and so, instead of waking up on Sunday mornings to cinnamon sticky buns and eggs, I awoke to my mother courting her crack pipe as she mumbled the words to _Margaritaville _as if it were her mantra. She never hid her addiction, probably figuring it would be something I would never think too much of. I was just a little kid. I didn't think too much of anything. But I absolutely adored my mom. I adored her even as I was being taken away. I adored her even though she never fought for me. A part of me still adores her now even though I have not seen her since that day, almost twenty years ago.

Despite her tired eyes and jutting bones and nicotine-stained fingers, I remember her being beautiful. Wild-looking. Exotic. Her hair was thick with red curls that went down her back, stopping right above the calligraphic writing of her tramp-stamp tattoo, and you couldn't go anywhere in the apartment without finding strands of it. Her legs were long. Her irises were a warm brown color, melting away the frigidity of her angular facial features. Many of her teeth were missing, but her smile was still radiant. Had she never gotten knocked up and succumbed to drugs and circumstance, she could've been something great; a model, a news anchor, an actress, a senator. Something to be proud of.

But I don't blame my mom for being a crack head. Hell, I'd be a crack head too if I became a single mother at fifteen, spurned by conservative family and peers. While all her friends from high school reveled in the freedoms of early adulthood, with their fancy diplomas and plans of higher educational pursuits, my mom sold her dignity to whomever promised her rent money or more drugs, staring the little boy who ruined her future in the face every day, looking into the eyes that weren't her own. Many men came and went, but I never knew who my dad was. I liked to think he was an astronaut exploring the cosmos and that one day he'd come back to Earth and save us from our white trash hell. But he never did.

The day I got taken away is still fresh in my mind. It was a hot day. The kind of sticky heat that breeds lethargy. I was wearing nothing but a ratty pair of briefs that were beyond moist with ass sweat, my gaunt limbs sprawled out on the linoleum, trying to absorb whatever coolness it retained. My mom, wearing a stained wife-beater and a pair of pre-owned men's boxers, was shivering. She wrapped her arms around herself and said to me, "Always use your manners, okay Axel?"

"Okay, ma," I said, licking the sweat from my upper lip. She was always preaching good manners and morality whenever she wasn't completely strung out. I went back to fantasizing about doing a cannon ball into a pool full of strawberry ice cream, our favorite.

"Promise me," she said, her bloodshot eyes staring me down with the kind of expectant hope she would give the greasy man on TV who reads off the winning lottery numbers every week. He was the only man I saw on a regular basis and my mother spoke of him as if he were family. _Stewart will be on soon_, she'd say, _we gotta see if we won. We gotta see if we're getting out of this dump. C'mon Stewart, say my numbers._

She spent more money on lottery tickets than she did food, and she spent more money on crack than she did lottery tickets. We were hungry a lot. And we never won the lottery.

"Axel," she said when I didn't immediately answer. "Promise me."

"I promise, momma."

Several minutes passed in near-silence, with only the mechanical hum of the barely functional rotator fan serenading us. Her tears flowed. But that was nothing out of the ordinary. My mom cried a lot. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her I loved her, but before I could force my skin to separate from the spot on the floor where I had melded, there was a loud knock on the door. My mother didn't move. In fact, she seemed to have stilled, contemplating whether to answer it or not. "Axel," she said, barely above a whisper, "Be a good boy, alright? Brush your teeth twice a day and pray every night. Everything's gonna be okay."

I didn't understand, but I nodded dumbly. There was another loud knock and my mom got up to answer it this time, and from the doorway emerged a woman with a tight bun and a beige pantsuit. Behind her were two large police officers. They exchanged muffled words with my mom and she stepped aside looking more defeated and worse for wear than ever, letting the pantsuit woman inside our tiny efficiency. She walked over to me and crouched down, speaking to me with syrupy intonations. She was wearing too much perfume and it was stifling. "Hello, my dear. How are you?"

"I'm okay," I said casually, suppressing a cough. I yearned for air that didn't smell like sweet pea.

She inspected me closely, her eyes trailing down my body, lingering on my visible ribs. Her scrutiny made me feel like I did something wrong. "Are you hungry?" She asked. "I have donuts in my car."

After consuming nothing but Maruchan and canned sausages for as long as I could remember, donuts sounded like heaven. I looked over to my mom for permission and she quickly averted her gaze. "Um, I'd like a donut please," I said unsurely, quickly adding, "If it's okay with momma." From the other side of the room, she never protested.

"Well, I'm sure she's fine with it. My name Miss Jen, and I'm with Children and Family Services." The woman smiled at me, as if I was supposed to know what that meant. There was splotch of her dark red lipstick on her front teeth. "And what's your name, darlin'?"

"Axel, spelled A-X-E-L. Right, momma?"

I tried to look over at her, but the woman, Miss Jen, blocked my view. My mom let out another sob. "And how old are you, Axel?"

I held up five fingers, wondering how many more questions I'd have to answer for a donut.

As if reading my mind, she said, "Well, Axel, why don't you get on some clothes and we'll go get some donuts, okay?"

"Can momma have some too?"

Miss Jen hesitated. "Well, I think these nice officers would like to talk to her first. Where are your clothes kept?"

In the single room that comprised of our entire apartment, save a small bathroom in the back, my stuff was all kept in a neat little pile. I pointed to it and Miss Jen took it upon herself to begin sorting through it, pulling out the more salvageable garments and putting them in a canvas bag she had brought with her. She handed me a t-shirt and some stained khaki shorts. "Do you have any toys? Shoes?" I shook my head. I outgrew my last pair of thrift store sneakers and I had not yet gotten another pair.

After I was dressed and my few belongings were confiscated, Miss Jen led me towards the front door where my mom was still standing, having a hushed exchange with one cop who was taking things down on a small notepad as she rubbed her eyes raw with the backs of her skeletal hands. She didn't look at me when we walked out the door. There were no tearful farewells, no well-wishes or exclamations of utmost love. Nobody told me that I would never see my mother again, and all I could think about were the donuts I was promised.

I never thought of my mom as a bad mom because I never got toys or new shoes, or because sometimes days would pass before I would have a full meal. I don't even resent her for being a drug addict. She was a bad mother because she let them take me from the only home and family I knew.

After that day was when my slew of non-permanence began.

The first few years were, of course, the worst. Because a small kid can't quite comprehend the concept of abandonment. You wake up every day with a false sense of hope that you'll go home and everything will be fine. But as each day passes, you slowly come to the realization that this is it. This is your life now.

I bounced around from group homes to foster families to various boys' wards around the county and I wasn't a stranger to the cots at juvenile hall. I was never in one place for very long. By the time I was ten, I had a criminal record, and most of my free time was spent doing community service bullshit to make up for my petty injustices. I made friends through the years, but our destinies were always different. Everything was temporary. After a while, you become used to it, and instead of adapting, you become apathetic. You start to realize your existence is a burden on others and that no matter where you wind up, you'll just be thrown back. No one wants a broken kid any more than they want a broken television or broken car.

And on my eighteenth birthday, I was kicked awake by my at-the-time foster mom (a harsh woman who loved collecting state welfare checks, a common breed) and told I had to leave. I knew it was coming, I had meetings with my assigned case worker days before who made me come up with "plans" and "goals" for when I was on my own. "These are the big leagues," he told me. "If you fuck up now, you'll wind up spending your life in a prison cell giving handies for an extra bologna sandwich." Jokes on him, though. I don't even like bologna.

For the first time in my life, I was completely free to do whatever I wanted. It was a day I had dreamed about for so long. Too bad nobody warned me that in the real world, you weren't guaranteed a meal or a place to sleep. I spent the night of my eighteenth birthday sleeping on a park bench, my stomach threatening to eat itself from the inside, as I tried my hardest not to cry.

But, like a phoenix, I knew I had to rise from the ashes of my fucked up existence. I pushed aside years' worth of self-pity and gave my estranged mother the mental middle finger. I was not about to let the world swallow me whole again.


	2. chapter one

_chapter one;  
_**self-help**

* * *

I was led down a path in life that resulted in my hands constantly smelling like pastrami, and there were torrents of grease that permanently lingered in the valleys of the friction ridges of my fingerprints. Working at a grimy Italian delicatessen was in no way glamorous or fulfilling, but it was something, even if it meant taking on the essence of cold cuts for below minimum wage. When you have a record and don't have a diploma, and you made the horrible mistake of neck and face tattoos during bouts of teenaged angst and rebellion, there are very few respectable job opportunities. I was on the straight and narrow because part of my probation was to maintain a job and submit to regular drug and alcohol tests, otherwise I'd make a living through petty thievery and squatting. My probation officer liked to come into the deli for surprise visits so I always had to be on my best behavior. Jail is no place for a handsome man like me. Luckily, my probation was almost up.

I earned myself two years of probation when I drunkenly punched some pompous pretty boy at a night club after he kept accusing me of staring at his girlfriend's ass. To be truthful, I was staring at her ass. She was a cute little thing, like a porcelain doll. Short and slender, with champagne colored hair that was begging to be played with. Her tits were nothing to write home about, but her tight blue skirt accentuated her hips and backside that more than made up for it. Subtlety wasn't my game, so it was only a matter of time that her boyfriend caught me. Like most testosterone-fueled beefcakes out to prove a point, he charged at me from across the dance floor ready to kill.

He got his face really close to mine (as close as it could be, considering I had a good five inches on him) to the point where his acrid breath felt like bathwater on my jawline. "Admit it, fucker," he spat at me through barred teeth. "Admit you were staring at her ass."

"What ass?" I smirked, cocking my hip to the side for maximum drunken arrogance. Alcohol makes you feel invincible_._ I knew this guy probably had more muscle tone in one ass-cheek than I had in my entire body and that if he really wanted, he could easily snap my bones like twigs, but my brain and my mouth were no longer in cahoots. "I have no idea what you're talking about, champ. Now run along before you get yourself hurt."

"I'm gonna kill you,"he said, shoving his index finger into my sternum, "If you don't apologize right now for being a rude shit." And his girlfriend was grabbing on to his forearm begging him to let it go and go back to dancing. For a second, she looked at me with her big pleading eyes.

"How about this." I grabbed the wrist of his hand that was touching me with as much force as I could muster, which isn't a lot when you're on your sixth rum and Coke. "You fuck off, or I'll rip off your mandible and then make sweet love to your girl while you're bleeding out."

I had said the right thing. He was seething, the veins in his neck and forehead jumping and twisting, while his girlfriend tried as hard as she could to pull him back. He tore his arm from my grip and reeled back for a punch, but before he could comprehend what was happening, I slammed my fist against his jaw out of panic.

Which is the absolute worst thing you can do, as it basically gives the other person a pass to completely fuck you up in the name of self-defense, especially if there's witnesses that saw you hit first.

And he pummeled me quite a bit before security got ahold of us. I think they took their time because they enjoyed watching me get my face bashed in. The rest was a blur, both from the alcohol and the concussion, and the next thing I remember is sitting in a jail cell with the other guy while we waited for processing. He had a bruise and a busted lip, and he sat on the opposite wall glaring at me. Me, with my surely-broken nose and dried blood decorating my face like war-paint.

An officer came over and unlocked the cell. "Riku Cox, you're free to go," he said, and for a second, I thought I misheard him, or that the guy had given the cops an obviously fake name.

"Cox?" I repeated, holding in a snicker. "Your name is Cox? Seriously?"

Riku turned his bludgeoned face to me and sneered, "Think my name is funny, huh?"

"A bit. I mean, c'mon," I admitted. "Your name is Cox. Cox!" I was expecting a round two to our tussle, which would have made me feel better because that meant he wouldn't be going home tonight, but to my surprise, he burst into laughter and I couldn't hold mine in any longer. We laughed until tears squeezed from our eye sockets and our chests hurt.

"No one knows suffering unless they've shared a name with the plural of cock," he said, trying to catch his breath, "But I've accepted it. Years of grade school teasing will do that."

The officer, not even slightly bemused by our exchange, looked at Riku and said, "Let's go or you can wait until tomorrow morning."

Looking hopeful, I asked, "Hey, what about me? Can I go?"

"Nope. You're being detained for third degree assault."

"W-wait, what? Do you _see_ my face? Why does he get to walk?"

The cop rolled his eyes. "You instigated and this is his first offense. You, on the other hand, have a file the size of your ego. Cox, let's go. Now."

Riku got up and made his way out the cell behind the officer, turning on his heel at the last minute to give me a two-finger salute. "Sorry 'bout your face," he said. And then he was gone.

And that's how I got two years of probation, and a new best friend.

* * *

It was around closing time at the deli and I was mopping up. My boss, Mr. Capucci, a balding Italian man, was yapping on in his broken English about how profits were down and how he was gonna have to cut my pay even more until business picked back up. He could choose to only pay me fifty cents an hour and I would be at his mercy. Luckily though, I was still making enough to afford rent, only because I lived with an older gay man who let me pay less than a fourth of the apartment's full rent because he liked that I spent a lot of time with my shirt off.

All I could think about was the fact my probation was almost up and that I could finally go back to living my life the way god intended—with drugs and alcohol and other illegal activities. I was lost in my reverie and didn't notice Riku come in.

"Hey, you're still up for Marion this weekend, right?" He said, and I jumped.

"Shit, dude. Where did you come from?" I leaned the mop against the wall and looked down at the floor, clutching my heart as if I were moments away from cardiac arrest. "You tracked dirt in."

"Oh well. If gives the place charm." He tossed his hair over his shoulder nonchalantly, clearly oblivious to the concept of labor. "Anyway, Marion. Saturday. Down? We already booked the hotel, so you don't have to pay a dime."

"Awesome, since a dime is like my hourly wage now."

"Yeah, I figured. We're gonna celebrate the end of your probation, man. It's gonna be awesome. Hookers, blow, the whole nine."

"I don't think Naminé would appreciate that," I laughed. "We'll think of something else though."

Like Riku, Naminé forgave me for the nightclub fiasco and became my friend too. She was a little sweetheart who made my heart throb with loneliness every time I hung out with her. And sometimes, for old time's sake, I'd glance at her ass when Riku wasn't looking.

It became a tradition somewhere along the line of our friendship. Every few months or so, give or take, we'd take a small road-trip into the nearest big city, Marion, where they had an art gallery and a huge shopping center and a Starbucks on every corner. It was a mini-vacation. It was a two-hour drive away from us, so we'd leave in the afternoon on Saturday, and we'd have the rest of the day and Sunday to absorb the pseudo-luxury of a utopian metropolis. We'd usually pool together some money and share a suite in a kinda-nice hotel with a continental breakfast and free coffee, and sometimes, if I was lucky, I wouldn't have to hear Naminé and Riku go at it in the bed next to me when they thought I had fallen asleep.

The real allure of Marion, however, were the art shows. Naminé went to school there at some hoity-toity art college, and every time there was an art show, she could get us all in for free where we'd get all dressed up like we weren't society's genital warts and sip champagne out of hand-blown toasting flutes with intricate, impractical stems that somebody probably took a lot of pride in. We'd speak with accents we didn't have and keep our eyes half-lidded to seem fantastically uninterested as we looked at paintings and sculptures that were apparently ingenious and modern, but just seemed like a mess of colors and shapes that had no rhyme or reason.

"And this one was inspired by the fact my daddy touched me and paid for my art school tuition to make up for it," the artists would say, showing off a wall-size canvas full of nothing but splatters of red paint and tiny dollar signs. And we'd 'ooh' and 'aah', and the price tag on it would have a ridiculous amount of zeros for something a toddler with spinocerebellar ataxia could paint. Naminé once told me, "You're not paying for the piece, you're paying for the emotions behind it," which seemed like bullshit, but the whole experience was pretty fun.

"Just think," Riku said, taking a seat at the counter. "This is the last time you'll be breaking the law by leaving town. We really have to up the ante." He thought for a moment and calmly said, "How about we kill someone?"

I went back to cleaning, trying to scrub away Riku's shoeprints. "Eh, I was thinking more along the lines of jay walking or petty theft. I'm not ready to go to prison just yet."

"Trespassing?"

"Only if we find something worth trespassing, I guess."

"Kidnapping?"

"What're we gonna do with a kid, Riku? We gotta feed it and bathe it and stuff. And for what? I don't wanna touch it or anything, that's gross. I'm not into pre-pubescence, I have standards."

Riku let out a sigh of mock-disappointment. "If we're not gonna do anything fun, can you at least make me a reuben? I'll give you a ride home if you do. My car's probably a lot better than bussing it with the public masturbators and night walkers."

Mr. Capucci popped his head from the back and yelled, "Kitchen closed! Axel, finish and go home!" He pointed a finger at Riku. "_Testa di cazzo_." Then he disappeared back into his tiny linen closet office in the kitchen.

"What did he say to me?"

"He called you a dickhead." I was always learning new Italian expletives from my boss.

"Oh, alright. Guess I'm gonna starve tonight. Ready to go?"

Riku dropped me off at my apartment building, and I hoofed it up to the fifth floor since I figured a little bit of cardio would do me some good. When I walked in, my roommate was chilling on the couch watching Friday Night Smackdown while sipping Chablis out of a plastic cup with a straw. It was a typical Friday. "Hey Ansem," I greeted.

"Axel! Want to get in on this action?" He gestured towards the TV. "Kane's whooping ass and getting all sweaty."

"Eh, why not?" I threw my apron on the coffee table and sat next to him. He offered me his cup and I took a few sips. "Just so you know, I'm going to Marion tomorrow. Don't miss me too much."

"Aw, baby, you know I always miss when you're gone."

I snorted and nudged him with my elbow. Ansem was pretty alright for some weirdo I found through Craigslist. He got out of a seven year long relationship and couldn't handle being all alone in his two-bedroom apartment that the lease wasn't up on yet. Not that I could blame him. Cheap rent and a good friend, I fucking loved the guy. What was once an office for his partner was now my bedroom, and he even gave me all the shit that was left behind in the breakup. Among them a yoga ball, some smooth jazz CDs, a nice pair of too-small loafers, and a back massager that I'm 92% sure was up someone's ass.

After wrestling was over, Ansem went off to bed. I laid on the couch for a bit just thinking, before my own self-pitiful thoughts lulled me to sleep. And that night, I dreamt I had a family. They were faceless, indescribable beings, but they exuded love as we sat around a table in the middle the woods laughing and smiling. But then the Earth's crust broke open beneath them and swallowed them up, and I was left all alone, on a suede couch in someone else's apartment, before trudging to my bedroom and collapsing into bed.

Marion is beautiful. And I don't mean that bullshit quirky urban beauty with flowers-between-sidewalk-cracks that indie bands go on about, but a consumerism-happy, chain stores and plazas and kitschy neon lights kind of beauty that you could only appreciate if you come from somewhere that doesn't have more than three department stores. It has, in my opinion, everything a suitable living environment should have. All kinds of cheap fast food, 24/7 grocery stores, side-of-the-road hot dog vendors, two full shopping malls, night clubs, more bars than gas stations, rats that are bigger than some dogs, drug dealers in every alleyway, prostitutes on every major intersection, and homeless war vets who will do whatever you tell them to for half of a cigarette. It's paradise. Too bad living expenses racked up way past my budget, and the job market in Marion is oversaturated, even for the jobs no one else wants to do. Kids with degrees are working at Burger King, so I didn't think I'd fare too well. But I told myself that if I ever hit it big or won the lottery, I'd get myself a nice apartment in downtown Marion and live the rest of my days reveling in the convenience and extravagance of big city life.

We pulled up at the hotel at around 6 o'clock in Naminé's fancy little sports car and let the greasy bellhop carry our bags to our room. I belly-flopped onto one of the beds and sighed. "I hate riding in the backseat of your car, Naminé. My knees almost made my chest cave in. I was folded into myself!"

"No one told you to be ridiculously tall," she retorted, collapsing on the other bed. "When I was picking out a car, I didn't take your long legs into consideration."

Riku gave the bellhop a ten spot and turned to us with his hands on his hips. "Get outta bed, you lazy fucks. We got shit to do."

"The art show doesn't start for another hour or so," Naminé said. "We can spare a few minutes for relaxation, can't we? Poor Axel over there had to endure a full two hours of sitting on his butt. You know he's delicate."

"Yeah, Naminé's right. I'm like a fuckin' flower."

"C'mon, get dressed, we can hit up some shops before the show. There's a world market in the plaza across the street and I bet they have candles that smell like Egypt. Doesn't that sound nice? The smell of sand and mummified corpses and curry?"

I scoffed and feigned offense. "That's just ignorant."

"Well, you haven't been to Egypt and I have and it smells exactly like sand, mummified corpses and curry."

Naminé and I rolled our eyes simultaneously.

Once we were all dressed, we stood in front of the mirror on the back of the door making faces at ourselves, sucking our cheeks in for maximum cheekbone. We looked hot. Naminé was wearing something white and shimmery, Riku was wearing a dark blue suit that made him look like a Men's Wearhouse cover boy, and I had on a black dress shirt and a tie and nice jeans that had been a gift from the two of them last Christmas. "You look like a tool." Riku smirked, eyeing my reflection. But I knew he meant it as a compliment.

We piled back into Naminé's car and pulled up at the brightly lit shopping plaza. "A bookstore!" Naminé exclaimed. "You guys want to go in?"

"But, but…" Riku started, but Naminé interrupted with, "Oh, stop. We can go to the world market after. We don't have a decent bookstore back home, I want to enjoy it while we can. Is that okay with you, Axel?"

"I'm down. Bookstores are cool," I said as nonchalantly as possible.

Truth is, I always loved bookstores. The smell of paper and dust and day-old coffee, and the dull cadence of idle murmurs and turning pages. When I was young, I was a slow learner. Whether or not that's related to my poor upbringing and mommy issues, I'll never know, but I remember being thrust into public school and being older than the other kids in my class and not knowing nearly as much as they did. I was constantly being referred to as "slow" or "learning impaired" by adults who didn't care that I was within earshot. I couldn't read until I was eight, and it took a few years after that to be able to read faster than a hundred words per minute, and even longer to be able to comprehend the words I was reading. But, I found enjoyment in it. It was a constructive way to forget all the bullshit, and the sense of achievement I'd get from finishing a book on my own would be worth the struggle. While in foster care, I'd spend hours at the locally-owned, now defunct, bookstore in town, thumbing through old books, just to get away for a while. But then I'd leave and go commit a petty crime in case someone got the wrong idea that I was a loser who actually _liked_ reading. I had a reputation to uphold.

Though big and commercially-owned, this bookstore still had charm. It had a cozy, welcoming air to it. But when we stepped inside we were immediately confronted by a dense crowd of young to middle-aged women holding copies of the same book, chit-chatting in excitement and assumedly quoting paragraphs amongst each other. Ahead of the group, there was a disorderly line leading to an obscured table surrounded by even more people and even more copies of the book. It was like looking over a sea of middle class, mostly-Caucasian housewives.

"_Paving the Road to Happiness: A Story of Hope, Love, and Overcoming Adversity_," Riku read off of the banner that hung over the table. "Man, that's a mouthful. Probably just some self-help mumbo-jumbo."

One of the women standing directly in front of us quickly turned on her heel and gave us a dirty look. "This book," she said, her nose so high in the air I probably could've seen her brain through her nostrils if I looked hard enough, "is a masterpiece. Anastasia Henley is a godsend, without her I'd be a wreck. She helped me get over my divorce. She inspires faith and love, and, honestly, it seems like you guys need a lot of that." She looked right at me as she said that last bit, her eyes scanning over my tattoos and unnatural, Manic Panic hair.

"Oh, I heard of this book! It was Oprah's Book of the Month." Naminé said, unfazed by her implied insult. "Why are all these people here? Is this a book signing?"

The woman's features softened and she looked like a little kid at a toy store. "Yes! Anastasia is here right now! Look!" She pointed at the table where we could make out a hint of someone scribbling away on book covers. "I can't wait to meet her and thank her for all she's done. She really is an inspiration." She held out her copy of _Paving the Road to Happiness _to us. "Just give it a quick look-through. I'm always trying to get people to read it. I got my mother to read it, my sister, my coworkers, it's great. I must've read it like six times now. I completely have the first two chapters memorized."

I apprehensively took it and began skimming through it with Riku and Naminé trying to peer at it with me, catching glimpses of words like "addiction", "poor", "self-control", "falling in love", and "true happiness" on the dog-eared pages. It just seemed like someone was trying to monopolize off their rags-to-riches sob story. These things were a dime a dozen. I choked back a scoff.

Riku grabbed it from my hand. "Let me see that."

I peered over his shoulder as he flipped the book over to the author portrait, and I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach with enough force to herniate.

"Huh," Riku said. "She looks weirdly familiar." But his voice sounded far away. I felt like I was dissolving into the ground, the very molecules of my existence breaking apart, the atoms sinking between the floorboards. There was a jam in my processing abilities. I couldn't see anything but that smiling face from the back of the book, magnified in my mind and reflected across several instances like a room full of mirrors. Those sharp, exotic facial features. Mass of thick red hair. Soft brown eyes.

I vaguely heard Naminé comment, "She's very beautiful. Look at that face structure."

"She's too pointy," said Riku.

There wasn't a doubt in my mind. I couldn't see anything but her. The author. Anastasia. My mother.

Suddenly, there was a hand on my forearm to bring me back to present-day planet Earth. My blinking must've not been on autopilot because the second I forced my eyes closed, I felt relief. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, and I was back in the front of the bookstore where the mass of ladies still congregated. Nothing was displaced, nothing was out of the ordinary. I just found my mother, the woman who birthed me and gave me up and left me with a persistent feeling of inadequacy as a human being, and Naminé had the audacity to tug at me, saying, "Come on Axel, let's go get some German candy from the world market." She attempted to pull me back towards the door, but I kept my feet planted. "Axel?"

"Uh, you guys go ahead, I still want to look around in here."

Naminé looked at me curiously. "If you still want to look around, we can stay."

"Nah, you guys go. I'm just gonna fuck around and look at magazines or something. Not really feeling the world market, they always smell weird." I waved them off. "Seriously. We can reconvene out front in twenty minutes."

"Well… If that's what you want then we're not gonna argue. Come Riku, let's go see if they really have Egypt candles." She laced her fingers through Riku's and waited for him to hand the book back to the lady in front of us before pulling him away. He kept his eyes trained on me suspiciously until they were out the door.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know," the woman said, holding the book against her chest and looking at me with the kind of disgusting sympathy reserved for the animals in those Sarah McLachlan commercials. I narrowed my eyes at her and she stepped back defensively. "Some people need a little extra help in life," she said softly, "If you want the book, get it. If your friends care, they'll understand."

"Honestly, lady, the book seems like a crock of shit." I puffed out my chest and grabbed the book from her. She opened her mouth to protest, but I cut her off before she could begin. "In fact, this shit is so laughable, I'm gonna go tell Miss Anastasia Henley," her name felt like a spoonful of too-hot soup in my mouth, "how much of a scam she's pulling here with this literal steaming heap of cat vomit that she's selling for thirty bucks a pop." I began marching up to the front of the line before she could react, causing many sounds of displeasure as I pushed through the crowd.

"The line starts back there, asshole!" Somebody grunted.

By the time I reached the table, piled high with hardcovers and paperbacks and audiobook CDs, I'd already caused a ruckus and women were shouting and requesting a manager to remove me for cutting. Some swung their handbags at me. A few whacked at me with their books. "Excuse me!" I yelled, commanding the attention of everyone within a fifty-foot radius. "I'd like to speak with the author of this self-aggrandizing bullshit!"

A woman peeked up from behind the wall of merchandise. And it was her, in the flesh. _Anastasia Henley_, the banner above her said in a swirly, barely-legible script with a heart dotting the 'i'. The woman who gave birth to me and abandoned me all those years ago. So very different from what I remember, yet still exactly the same. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to do. She smiled at me with a mouthful of perfectly symmetrical pearly whites, and for a moment, I thought she had recognized me and that we were going to have a heartfelt reunion and that everyone would applaud and dab tears from their eyes. A warmth radiated from my solar plexus as my heartbeat pounded in my ears.

She opened her mouth to speak and, for a split moment, time stood still.

"I'd be happy to sign your book, sir, but there is a line and it wouldn't be fair if I skipped all these people." She gestured to the grumbling crowd that surrounded me. "I promise I'll try my hardest to get to everyone."

I deflated. And something inside of me snapped. There was no way she didn't know who I was. We shared the same facial features, from our narrow, upturned nose and chiseled jawline and widow's peak. My eyes were my father's, and when she looked into them, she had to remember how one cumshot left her with a lifetime of mistakes, one of which was standing before her like a ghost of the past she must've tried so hard to forget.

I loudly scoffed, a burn in the back of my throat like I was seconds away from spitting fire. "Are you fucking serious? You think I want your signature, you cold-hearted bitch?"

And _that_ is how you start a mob of angry housewives.

Commotion erupted around me and I was suddenly grabbed by two acne-ridden young men who worked at the bookstore and roughly escorted away from the ravenous group of ladies who wanted to rip my testicles off in the name of the self-help for women genre. "You don't understand!" I yelled at them manically. "You don't understand what she's put me through!"

"Calm down, sir or we're calling the police." One of the employees said, his sausage fingers digging into the fleshy part of my upper arm. I tried to thrash out of their grip but my skinny ass wasn't going anywhere.

"The police? For what? It's a free country! I can express my displeasure! I pay taxes!" Truthfully, I don't pay taxes.

"Calm down, sir. You're causing a scene."

"Causing a scene? Causing a fucking scene? You want to see causing a scene?" As they steered me towards the entrance, I kicked over a bookmark display like I had something to prove, causing hundreds of bookmarks, metal, plastic, and cardboard, from kittens to bible verses to Gandhi quotes, to spill onto the floor. "That's me causing a scene, now let me go!"

"Get the cops on the phone," one employee deadpanned to the other. "I don't get paid enough to deal with all these drug addicts that come wandering in here."

"Drug addict? For serious? Fuck off." Once I was no longer being held by two sets of hands, I yanked myself out of their grip and bolted out of the bookstore. "Get back here!" The employee yelled at me, but he made no effort to come after me, opting to instead stand in the doorway and wave his fist in my general direction. Riku and Naminé were waiting by the car and seemed sadly unsurprised, but they sensed the urgency and quickly hopped in. I climbed in the back and before shutting the door, yelled, "Drive! Cops are coming!"

Naminé peeled off without a word, like the good getaway driver she is. Riku turned to look at me and casually asked, "So, Axel. What'd you do?"

I felt like crying, but otherwise just ignored the question and tried to let everything sink in.

"This isn't going to be one of those situations where we have to ditch the car and torch it, right? Because I'm still making payments," Naminé said barely above a whisper, completely serious. "I mean, I'll do it, but… Please don't tell me we're going to be accessories to murder."

With a dry laugh, I shook my head. "I fucked up. But not that bad."

"We were only gone for fifteen minutes. What did you _do_?"

"I, uh, saw my mom."

Both Naminé and Riku turned to face me at the same time. "You what?"

They knew about my childhood. Not the full story, but the fact my mom gave me up when I was five and that I haven't seen her since. They knew I was bitter but generally accepting of it, and they knew I had no desire to seek her out. Not that I could, since I didn't know her full name. Everyone called her Ana, and my last name is Novak, but when I looked up Ana Novak on the internet several years ago, I never found anything. I resigned to the fact I'd never know her, and I was okay with that. Who'd want to reunite with a person who didn't want them?

"What do you mean you saw your mom?" Naminé asked slowly.

"The shitty book—" I began, before Riku cut me off.

"You mean the shitty book you're holding right now?"

I looked down and sure enough, the book from the woman in front of us was tucked still under my arm. I turned it over in my hands, looking at the back portrait again. "She wrote it. My mother, I mean. It's gotta be. Looks just like her, like me. Her name makes sense. Anastasia. It's her. She was there."

Neither of them knew what to say. The only sound for several minutes was the sound of acceleration and light traffic. They must've had a hard time processing the information, too.

Finally, Naminé said, "So that's why you got all weird."

"Yeah. I saw her picture and it hit me. And then I realized that she was there and I… I didn't think and I pissed off a lot of people."

"Are you in her book?" Riku asked.

"Huh?"

"Like, did she write about you in her book? Isn't her book about her life struggles and how she overcame them? Maybe she mentioned you in there. Maybe, I dunno, you were the catalyst for her becoming a self-help author?"

To be honest, I hadn't thought of that. I turned on the overhead light in the car and started from page one, skimming through looking for any mention of the son she gave up on. The acknowledgement page just said 'To my loving family, thanks for believing in me', no mention specifically of a son. Chapter one, which was all about her youth, had nothing about a son. Chapter two, how she got addicted to drugs, no son. Chapter three, bottoming out, nothing about having a kid. Chapter four, epiphany and recovery, nope. Chapter five, falling in love. Chapter six, a new family. Chapter seven, a son!

'_When I fell in love with James, I knew of the son he had from his previous marriage. He was still very young, so he never knew his mother before she passed, and I knew right away that it was my calling to mother this boy as if he were my own. He needed a mother, and I still had an empty place in my heart where this beautiful blue-eyed boy would fit perfectly. The first time I held him in my arms, it felt as if I was engineered for cradling him. I said to him, "I am your momma", and for the first time, I felt like I had found my purpose in this world.'_

"What the fuck?" I said aloud.

"Well? Find something?"

"Just some bullshit about someone else's kid that she apparently decided to claim as her own. She gave away her real child so she could get a new one. Fuck this. I wish we never went to that bookstore." I threw the book to the floor.

"Axel," Naminé said, her tone soft and comforting, "Are you sure she's your mom? What are the odds that the woman who gave you up ended up being a successful author that we just happened to run into at a bookstore? This woman has been on talk-shows about this book."

We had arrived at the art gallery, and several people were loitering about out front, smoking their American Spirits and probably boasting about how artsy and tortured they are. Naminé parked and we sat in the car for a moment.

"We look alike, Naminé. We have the same hair color, the same face shape. I'd remember her from anywhere." I picked the book up and handed it to her. She inspected the author portrait, occasionally glancing back at me to bridge the gaps in our resemblance. "I mean, obviously we aren't identical. I know I look a lot like my father too, but I doubt he writes books."

"You shouldn't dye your hair," she finally said. "Your natural color is gorgeous." She handed the book back to me and again my eyes were drawn to my mother. She looked so beautiful. Her hair was carefully styled, her makeup made her look not a day over thirty. She looked _happy_. And I hated her for it.

"What do you think though? Do you see it?"

"I see it," Riku said. "You both have a weird ass pointy face, it's hard to miss."

"What're you going to do, Axel?" Naminé asked, giving me a look that let me know right away where she stood on the issue.

"I guess nothing. She seems like she's fared just fine pretending I don't exist. So I can back to pretending she doesn't exist either."

"You don't need her anyway," she said. "Look how far you've come without her. You're better off without someone like that, Axel. We can be your family. You don't need her."

I felt tears welling in my eyes.

"Let's go have fun, yeah?" Riku suggested, opening up the door and getting out as to not leave room for protest. I knew the whole touchy-feely disposition wasn't his thing. He ducked his head back in to say, "We'll get drunk and have a cheap laugh at the expense of others. It'll get your mind off things."

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through my nose. "You're right. Let's go have a good time." I tossed the book on the floor and kicked it under the seat.

We joined arms and went inside the gallery, reveling in the pretension and abundance of infinity-sign tattoos and pseudo artiness and neon pixie cuts. But, for some reason, it seemed less charming. I couldn't help but think about the fact that these kids had mothers who probably supported their hobby. And even if their mothers didn't approve, they probably still loved them and had bad school pictures of them lining the mantle over the fireplace. These kids were pursuing their dreams, and I was here for the sole purpose of poking fun. And for what? What had I done with my life that made me so much better? Riku at least comes from a rich family and has traveled the world, and Naminé graduated art school and does commission painting, they have a reason to feel smug. But me? I make sandwiches for a living, while on probation, with no family or significant other or _anyone _to let me know that I'm loved, or that someone in this godforsaken world gives two shits about me.


	3. chapter two

_chapter two;  
_**mommy dearest**

* * *

There was no sleeping that night. I was a tipsy cluster-fuck of emotions and Riku snored, so when the blocky red numbers next to my head read a quarter to four, I was up pacing the small area between the two beds. I tried really hard not to think about it, I really did, but it was impossible. On the small table in the corner with the room phone and hotel information binder was Naminé's laptop. My palms itched and I glanced over at the two of them in bed, soundly asleep, their breaths even and heavy and showing no sign of incitement.

I opened the laptop up and was relieved upon the discovery that Naminé didn't password protect her computer. It loaded up to a cute picture of her and Riku making kissy faces at each other and I stifled a groan. I opened up the internet browser and let my fingers hover over the keys while I thought about what exactly I wanted to know. I hunt-and-pecked the name 'Anastasia Henley' into the search engine and within seconds the screen was flooded with all sorts of results, the first being an online encyclopedia article. I clicked on it.

"Anastasia Henley is an American motivational author known for her bestselling memoir _Paving the Road to Happiness: A Story of Hope, Love, and Overcoming Adversity…" _I read to myself under my breath. There was a picture of her holding up a hardcover copy of her book next to a man who looked like the perfect Aryan crossbreed of Wall Street and country club. The caption under the photo said: "Anastasia Henley and her husband, James Henley, posing for _Writer's World Weekly_." I assumed this was her husband. And judging by the large rock on her ring finger, he was every bit as successful as she was.

I scanned the article, mentally cataloguing trivial facts. Her birthday was October 20th, she was born in Ohio, has a bachelor's degree, gives motivational speeches at rehab centers, has two children. I paused at the latter. It didn't say anything more than "two children". I thought back to the book, her adopted son, and wondered if the other kid could've been another mongrel she took under her wing all in the name of righteousness.

Or was it me, the forgotten kid, her _real_ kid. Made from her cells and DNA and incubated inside her body. I doubted it, but hope made me crack a smile. I imagined my mother, if I could even call her that, sitting down with her publisher or editor or whatever and telling the story of the little redheaded boy she left behind all those years ago. I imagined her getting weepy-eyed, recalling me nursing from her breast as she felt the quintessence of motherhood. "I can't tell anyone," she'd say, "because it hurts too bad."

I scoffed to myself, at myself. I knew that wasn't the case. I doubted anyone but her knew of my existence.

After another few minutes of clicking around, I found another site with a short little bio on her.

_Anastasia Henley (neé Albright) was born in Leighton, Ohio to Genevieve and Theodore Albright. She dropped out of school and moved to New York when she was only fifteen after falling into hard drugs and prostitution. After years of struggling with addiction and poverty, Anastasia turned her life around and checked herself into rehab. After getting clean, she devoted her life to helping other people suffering from addiction, leading her to eventually begin her memoir which would become a national bestseller. She is married to James Henley, a psychiatrist, and together they have two children. When not touring to promote her book and speaking at rehab centers across the country, Anastasia likes curling up with a good novel and a cup of coffee at her home in Fayfield, New York._

My eyes lingered on the words, processing them. Fayfield was a suburban town outside of Marion where white picket fences and McMansions and perfectly landscaped lawns gave the impression that it was something other than one of those copy-and-pasted master-planned developments made to appeal to the snooty upper-middle to high class folk who didn't want to stray too far from their shitty hometowns and villages that dotted upstate New York like herpes. It was a half-hour drive from here, at most. I could take Naminé's keys and car and drive to the large wooden sign on the side of the road that said, in a bold, fancy font, "Welcome to Fayfield, the town of flowers and good neighbors" and be back before either of them knew I had left.

Which begged the question, why did my mom settle down in town not too far from where she apparently turned tricks and bottomed out? Upstate wasn't small by any means, but the communities within it were. How do you go to the grocery store or a book signing and not worry about running into a man who you once blew for a rock, or, worst case scenario, the son you abandoned and gave up on while you went on to be successful and get married and write bullshit self-help books while he choked back tears in a hotel room he shared with his happy friends who didn't have one iota of a clue what kind of pain he was feeling?

"Why did you never come back for me?" I quietly asked the picture of her on the back of the book that lay face-down on the floor next to me. "And why did you never leave?"

I picked up the book and in a complete act of desperation for some kind of answer, I began to read it.

* * *

"You're a free man, Axel Novak!" Riku cheered, clapping me on the back as I got into the passenger seat of his sedan. "No more probation, which means all the drugs and public urination you want!"

"Luckily, I haven't pissed in two years in anticipation of this day," I said, rolling down my window and pulling a cigarette from the spare pack Riku kept tucked in the visor.

"Well, in light of your newfound liberty, I got you a little present." He handed me a lighter, a cheap plastic orange one. I turned it over in my hand before giving him a look.

"Dude, I appreciate it, but I got like ten of these at home."

He laughed. "No, dude. Check the glove."

I gave him a suspicious stare as I lit my cigarette.

"Seriously, Axel. You're gonna fuckin' love it."

I took a drag and handed back his lighter before slowly opening the glove compartment, only to be greeted by one of those plastic bows you slap on presents, only this bow wasn't stuck on anything. Riku gave me a huge smile with his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline as he motioned for me to pick it up, so I did. My confusion disappeared when I turned the bow over and saw a small bag of pot stuck to the adhesive side. "Aw, fuck yeah, dude! Thanks! But do you think you could've maybe given it to me when we weren't sitting in the parking lot of my probation office?"

"Where's the fun it that?" Riku asked, giving me one of those token cocky Riku smiles, as he started the car up. The minute he did, the radio popped on to some hip-hop song. "Now let's get over to my place so we can smoke that shit and really let loose!" He peeled out of the parking lot and I felt like a new chapter of my life was beginning.

When Riku said we were going to smoke pot and let loose, I truly believed that's all it would be. I knew Riku had his wild streaks, but kept them mostly under control around me because of my 'regularly-submit-to-a-drug-test-or-else-go-to-jail' thing. I knew he liked to dabble around with harder drugs and party, so when we got to his and Naminé's townhouse and got high and did shots of cheap tequila, I shouldn't have been surprised when suddenly there was a large influx of people, mostly strangers and some mutual friends, and loud music and lines of coke on the coffee table. I was no stranger to any of this, but it had been a while and I was out of my element. I did a line and kissed a girl sitting next to me on the couch. Naminé was giving a henna tattoo to Riku as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Two people were getting into a heated argument about whether human ribs would taste as good as pork ribs if you marinated them right.

Synergistic effects were kicking my ass and I felt like I was swimming in a vat of molasses. The girl next to me played with my hair, braiding strands of it and licking the ends to keep them from unraveling.

It had been a few weeks since the trip to Marion, and I had been trying my best to move forward, to forget. I quit the deli a few days before the end of my probation and gave Ansem the rest of my savings to make up for my upcoming lack of income while I looked for other means of employment. For some reason, I had a newfound sense of pride and motivation. I realized right then, as my thumb stroked figure eights on this girl's thigh, that it was because I wanted to prove I don't need a mom or a family, that I could make something of myself by myself for myself. But I didn't know quite where to start.

Someone passed me their joint and I took a hit and passed it to the girl.

I wanted to show Anastasia Henley that she gave up something great that day they took me away. I wanted to succeed and when people asked how I got there, I could tell them of my feat, of my abandonment, of the bitch that has pretended I don't exist for twenty years. And I want her to see me on TV or in the newspaper or on a magazine cover and I want her to feel what it's like to be erased from someone's life.

Suddenly, I'm in Riku and Naminé's guest bedroom, a place that has been a second home to me, only this time I'm not alone. The girl from the couch is beneath me. Her back arches off the mattress and her pelvis meets mine as her chest, flushed a dull pink color and shiny with spit and sweat, rises and falls with each covetous intake of oxygen. I reach forward and tuck a piece of her black hair behind her ear, a gesture too romantic for casual sex with a girl whose name I don't know, but it feels right. After several minutes of sloppy humping , she cuddles close to me as we bask in a post-orgasmic afterglow. Then I pass out.

When I finally came to, it was evening the next day. I pulled my boxer shorts on and wandered out of the room to see that nothing in the house looked displaced. Everything was spotless and innocent, not a trace of anything that would indicate a party was contained here less than twenty-four hours before. Naminé was sitting at the dining room table sketching in her sketchbook. I cleared my throat and she looked up at me. "Well, well, well. Look who rose from the dead."

I tried to comb out some of my hair knots with my fingers with no avail. "Shit," I said, "I haven't partied like that in a while."

"As long as you had fun," she said, going back to her sketchbook.

I rocked on the heels of my feet. "I don't remember if I had fun, but I probably did."

"You did. Your little friend had a lot of fun too, she just left a couple hours ago. Told me to tell you that you owe her $40 for ripping her bra."

Afraid of Naminé judging my sleaziness, I laughed sheepishly in an attempt to play it off. "I, uh, didn't catch her name or number. She a friend of yours?"

"I don't know her and I don't think Riku does either, she must've been someone's plus-one." She blew eraser shavings off of her drawing and slid her sketchbook towards me. "What do you think?"

It was a landscape of some sort. "Looks nice," I said.

She let out a sigh and scribbled all over the page, turning the mountains into conical swirls. "God, I hate doing landscapes," she grumbled. "People are my forte, but no one wants to buy paintings of you or Riku, they want trees and buildings and beachfronts. It's killing my art mojo." She angrily closed her sketchbook. "I need… _inspiration_."

"I can't really help you there, Naminé. I'm not very artistic."

"Oh well," she said. "Want a ride home or do you want to wait until Riku gets off of work?"

"I'll go now, I'm dying for a shower and there's semen on these boxers. Fingers-crossed that it's my own."

When I got back to Ansem's apartment, he was in the middle of making macaroni and cheese. "Honey, I'm home!" I shouted from the entry-way. I kicked off my shoes and went into the kitchen.

"Hey, love, you got some mail." He motioned over to an envelope on the counter. "No return address. A love letter, perhaps? I was tempted to open it but I think that's illegal."

I picked up the envelope and inspected it. My name and address were handwritten in a neat, curly script. And, like Ansem said, there was no return address. "You think there could be anthrax in here?" I asked him half-seriously.

"Oh, who in the world would try to poison you, love?"

"Your sarcasm won't mean anything when the anthrax kills us both."

"Just open it, you've got me curious."

With a shrug of my shoulders, I grabbed a butter knife and slid it under the flap to detach the adhesive. I opened the envelope, and inside was a folded rectangular piece of paper. I took it out and unfolded it and my knees went weak when I saw that it was a check. A check for $10,000.

"Well, shit!" Ansem exclaimed, peeking at it from behind my shoulder.

My hands trembled as I looked from the amount to the name that signed for it. It was a mess of swirls, like signatures tend to be, but the check was personalized. In the top left corner, where the printed name and address of the check-writer would be, was a thick coat of whiteout. But I already knew who it was from.

She remembered me all along. And now she was trying to quell her guilt.

In a fit of anger and irrationality, I ripped the check in half. "Fuck her," I growled through gritted teeth. Ansem looked at me like I had just curb-stomped a cancer patient.

"A-Axel…" He said, trying to remain calm. "That was ten grand. It's no millions, but... You're not exactly rolling in dough at the moment. Ten grand, Axel. That's like four years of the rent you pay."

But Ansem didn't understand. He didn't know what an insult it was. It was hush money. Stay-the-fuck-away-from-me money. I-wasn't-there-for-you-and-will-never-be-so-here's-a-small-chunk-of-change money. The pot of water on the stove started to boil over and sizzle on the burner and Ansem left my side to tend to it. I looked at the two pieces of the check in my hands before crumbling them. I picked the envelope up and peered inside to see if there was maybe a note or something, but there wasn't. She just sent me a check with nothing else like $10,000 alone was enough to fix everything.

But then I had a thought, and I quickly tried to straighten out the pieces of the check. Ansem was saying something, but I wasn't listening. I picked at the whiteout, letting it cake under my fingernail as it flaked off bit by bit. I scraped at it, careful not to rip the paper, like I was playing a scratch card.

_Anastasia Henley  
__206 NE 47__th__ Ct  
__Fayfield, New York_

I knew what I had to do.

"Ansem," I said, in the sweetest, most syrupy kiss-ass voice I could muster. "You don't have work tomorrow, right?"

He narrowed his eyes at me, picking up on my tone. "Right," he said slowly.

"And you don't have any plans?"

"Not that I know of, no."

"So, like, can I use your car? Pretty please?"

He let out a grumbly whine. "But you don't have a license and I don't want my perfectly good track record tarnished if you get pulled over."

"I pinky-promise, cross my heart that I won't get pulled over. I just need like, I dunno, four hours, top?"

"For what? You're not going to work, and if you were going with one of your little friends, they'd come get you."

"Ansem," I moaned. "I'll be on cleaning duty for the rest of the month. I'll do all the dishes and make your bed and do laundry. Just… Just do me a solid, man. It's important. I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't."

"Fine, fine," he caved. "But if you get pulled over, or so much as put a dent in my car, you owe me ten grand. No more, no less. Also, I'll put a twenty by the keys, get some gas in her. And remember, the gas gauge is broken so don't think she doesn't need gas just because it says she's full. She's an old gal, so treat her right."

"You got it, man," I said, but I had already stopped listening.

* * *

Honestly, it looked exactly as I imagined.

Three stories. White siding. Cobblestone driveway. Columns. Yellow rose bushes. It was very neoclassical and storybook, with a shiny red BMW parked outside the two-car garage. Ansem's fifteen year old Town Car looked especially out-of-place as I pulled up.

It was almost noon on a Sunday, and the late-spring air was warm and comfortable. I dressed my best, combed my hair, forwent the eyeliner, and dabbed concealer on my eye bags. For a moment, I just stood by the car, wondering if anyone had noticed me pull up. I didn't know if Anastasia was home, or if when I knocked her husband or either of her other kids would answer. I didn't know what I'd say to them if they did. Anxiety made me sick to my stomach, my palms were sweaty, and I debated turning around and going back home where I belonged.

But then I thought about it; the nerve of feigning ignorance and then sending me a check. How I lived in an older man's apartment with nothing to my name while she lived in a big house with her perfect family and perfect new teeth like she was above everything. And I was furious.

My anger caused a surge of adrenaline and I marched up to the front door like I had something to prove. I jammed my index finger into the doorbell about three or four times, and then I waited. And waited. And waited. It was probably only a minute, but it felt like an eternity. At the 45-second mark, part of me felt relief and I was about to retreat back to the car. But then the door opened.

"Hi there, can I help you?"

The woman who opened the door was the same woman from the book signing, the book cover and those pictures from the internet. Almost a stranger, but not quite. She wore an ironed silk blouse and dress slacks like a soap opera wife, with her mass of red hair carefully styled into bun with nary a strand out of place. Her makeup was done and she smelled like designer perfume.

She didn't seem surprised to see me. In fact, she didn't seem affected at all. And I wondered how she could look so calm while I was falling apart.

"Can I help you?" She asked again, her words slow and deliberate as she looked at me up and down with silent judgment. Or maybe it was something else. Her eyes met mine and she held my gaze for a moment before saying, "If you're here to sell something or convert our religion, we're not interested, sorry."

I could feel all the years of built-up anger and resentment bubbling within the pit of my stomach, coming up like bile that caught the words in my throat. I swallowed heavily, fighting back whatever threatened to come up. "Cut the shit," I spat.

"Please leave," she said quietly, "Or I'm calling the police." She was about to turn on her heel before I grabbed at her wrist. She opened her mouth to say something else, or maybe scream, but I cut her off.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Lower your voice, plea—"

"Or what? You'll abandon me again?" I said even louder.

She placed her hand on my sternum and shoved me hard enough to send me a few step back. She stepped outside the house and gently shut the door behind her, turning to face me with crossed arms and repentance. "Axel," she said softly, and my knees went weak. She said my name again, like the first time was just a test to see if she could say it. She smiled a nostalgic smile.

My anger momentarily faltered. "In the flesh," I responded, barely above a whisper.

But then her smile waned. "How? How did you find me? Why did you find me? I… You can't be here." She quickly glanced around as if to see if anyone was witness to our exchange. "Look, Axel. I'm… I'm elated that you're okay. I've spent so much time thinking about you—"

"Have you?" I challenged. "Then why haven't you looked for me?" She looked down at her shoes, a pair of heels that probably cost more than I've ever had in my life, and she was speechless. "Judging by the nice car, new teeth, big house and lack of a crack pipe in your hand, I'd say you've done pretty well for yourself. And married, too. New kids."

"Axel—"

"Do I get to meet my new step-dad?"

"Axel! Please!" She clamored, exasperated. And I almost felt bad for putting her on the spot, but I had twenty years of pent up emotion to let out. "This is too much, you're making this so complicated. I want to be happy to see you, I really do. But things are different. I'm different. And… And…" She struggled for words. "And I don't want you complicating things."

Her last words stung harder than anything I'd ever felt before. And suddenly I was a little kid again, being passed off on others and trying my hardest to acclimate, dreaming of stability and mom-kisses on the forehead before bed.

"Please," she begged, "Go back home. I'll keep giving you money."

"You think I want fucking money?" I shouted at her. "You think I drove all this way for a few pity dollars? Fuck you." Despite my efforts, tears pricked the corners of my eyes. "Fuck you," I said again, this time in a defeated whisper.

"I'm really sorry," she said.

"How did you even know where I live?" I asked, suddenly remembering the check that was now sitting in the bottom of a garbage can.

She opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted.

"Mom?" A muffled voice called from within the house. "Mom, where'd you go?" And before either of us could react, the door opened and a suntanned blond boy approached my mother, his eyes a piercing blue color that looked at me with undeserved contempt. "Oh. Who is this?"

My mother cleared her throat and said, "Axel, this is my son, Roxas. Roxas, this is Axel. He…" She struggled for an alibi. "He is… He's visiting family, the neighbors. And he, uh, came to introduce himself." She shot me a look of pure surrender, her eyes pleading for my compliance.

"Why?" The boy, Roxas, asked, unconvinced. He leaned against the doorway, sticking his hands in the pockets of his chinos. "I mean, it seems pretty outdated to just go around introducing yourself to neighbors. How do you know he isn't canvasing our house for a robbery? I saw a Dateline episode about this."

I narrowed my eyes at the little prick. He had a punchable face. Smug and pretty.

"Don't be ridiculous, hon. Besides, he was just leaving."

I didn't say anything, I couldn't. I was too much of a coward, too eager for acceptance. She rubbed his arm comfortingly, and he glanced up at me again and then looked back at my, our, mother. There was no way he didn't see the resemblance, but if he did, he showed no sign of questioning it. "Alright, then. See you around, Axel." And then he disappeared back inside of the house.

My mom let out a breath I didn't realize she was holding. "Thank you," she said.

"Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes. "Well, don't worry. I'll leave you and your new family alone. Good seeing you." I turned to go, half expecting her to stop me. But she didn't, and I was left to trudge down the cobblestone driveway feeling sorry for myself. I heard the door close behind me, but I didn't turn to look.

I don't know what made me think she'd suddenly want me now after all these years.

Before getting back in the car, I took one last look at the house that could've been my home. And I wanted to burn it to ash.

But I had enough self-control to not indulge in arson. I had a different idea. I drove to the nearest gas station and picked up a pay phone and punched in the number I would never let myself forget. "Hey, Xigbar! Long time no talk!... Yeah, yeah, I'm doing great, but I was wondering if you had interest in this job I have… Uh-huh… Uh-huh... Well, you are the best, Xiggy… It's in Fayfield. Big house, probably alarmed, family of at least four… I was thinking we can hit it tonight… Sweet! We can meet behind the Dunkin Donuts off the freeway. See you soon."

After all she put me through, she didn't deserve to be happy and carefree. So I was going to do something about it.


	4. chapter three

_chapter three;  
_**break and enter**

* * *

Xigbar and I go back to when I was still wet behind the ears. He's an older dude, a one-eyed war vet who dedicated the last of his years going out of his way to break as many laws as he could, a smart guy who never lived to his full potential and now makes a living through burglary, fraud, and drug pedaling. We met when I was a fourteen year old troubled youth. He would hang out behind the convenience store near the group home I was in at the time and give us booze, cigarettes, and stolen electronics in exchange for reconnaissance, which basically meant he had kids peeking into cars and house windows so he'd know if they were worth breaking into. We've kept in contact over the years because I figured having a shady motherfucker like him on standby would come in handy. Plus, I used to buy drugs from him on the regular.

He had a crew of two other guys with him, and the three of them were peering at several pieces of paper laid out on the hood of Ansem's car. They were talking in hushed tones and I stood just out of earshot sipping on an iced latte I bought with the gas money since the tank was still full. Xigbar turned to me and said, "Axel, come look at these. I pulled these off the net, they're blueprints to all the cheaply produced mansions built in the neighborhood in the past decade. Unfortunately for us, there is very little variation. They're mass-produced homes, very generic. But I need you to tell me which of these is the house we're hitting."

I walked around to the front of the car and looked at the papers. They looked nearly identical, with only slight variations in room layout. "I dunno, man. Haven't seen the inside, only the outside."

He let out a throaty grunt and stroked his chin. "Alright. Arched windows or rectangle?"

"Tall rectangles."

He pulled a couple of the floorplans and crumbled them up. "Pillars?"

"Yeah."

A few more were ruled out. "What kind of roof? Gabled? Hipped?"

"I don't know anything about roof architecture."

"Fine. Well, these are the prints we have left. There's three. Now, this is very important. We want our entry point to be somewhere near the alarm system keypad so I can disable it before it goes off. You get about ten to twenty seconds after a zone is breached to disarm it. And I can tell you right now where each of these homes has their system, but I need to know which of these to follow."

I looked again, scanning over each of the floorplans meticulously, trying to match them to the exterior of the house. "This one," I said with confidence, picking up the paper and handing it to Xigbar.

"Take your time, kid. Like I said, this is serious."

"I'm positive this is it. The garage is on the left, the other two had garages on the right."

"Alright," he said, "If you're positive this is it then this is what we're going to use to plan our attack. And I'm going to remind you again that this is real risky business. Real fucking risky. We haven't cased the joint, we don't know who's home and who isn't, we don't even know if they have a big ass dog that's going to tear our guts out the second we step foot inside. You sure you want to do this?"

"Definitely. But if you don't want to take a risk..."

"Shit, kid, you know I live for this. I'm an adrenaline junkie. But you're going to owe me big time. And if things go south, I'm out. Every man for himself."

"Yo, boss, what're we looking for once we're in?" One Xigbar's goons, a big, square man, asked. "Jewelry? TVs?"

Xigbar looked to me for an answer.

"Grab whatever you want," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"So what's your end-game here, Axel? This is clearly personal."

"Just want to show someone what happens when you cross the wrong guy."

"You want to send a message."

"Right."

Xigbar let out an exasperated sigh, glaring at me with his one eye. "That's the absolute worst reason to commit a Class D felony."

"But you'll do it."

He let out another sigh. "Yeah, I'll do it. But like I said, you owe me. And everything's fair game in the house. If I want to steal their newborn, I'm going to steal their newborn."

"If there are any newborns, you're welcome to them," I said, holding up my hands in submission. "Don't let me stop you."

The big guy asked, "So are we doing this sloppy?"

"If it's a message Axel wants, it's a message Axel gets."

* * *

It was nearing 3a.m., and I'm sure Ansem was shitting himself over the fact I wasn't home yet with his precious Town Car. The perks of not having a cellphone included not having Ansem calling and reaming at me. It was a dick move on my part, but I planned on getting home before he had to be to work at 7:30.

I was parked down the street from the house, waiting for Xigbar to give me the signal. Finally, a pair of high-beams flashed in my direction. I took a deep breath, left the keys on the dashboard for a quick getaway, and hopped out. We rendezvoused by Xigbar's van.

He handed me a pair of gloves and a balaclava that smelled like someone else's sweat. I was going to bitch about it, but decided against it. We geared up and ran through the plan once more, discussed emergency strategies and reinforced the "every man for himself" commandment. "Remember," Xigbar told his crew, "this is unfamiliar territory. Don't get ballsy. I don't need any of you fucks getting collared, you're my best guys. Get in, grab what you can, break what you can, get out. And Axel," he clapped his hand on my shoulder, "I will disembowel you myself if shit hits the fan."

"Sir, yes sir." I gave him a salute.

These guys were professionals. They glided over the lawn, not making so much as a peep, while the grass crunched under my soles. We hopped a picket fence and made our way to the back yard, which had a nice patio and a large, illuminated swimming pool the color of liquid aquamarine. Xigbar went to work, quietly jimmying open a casement window while his crew snuck around with sound amplifiers, listening for any sign of life inside the house. I paced around, admiring the fancy patio furniture, wondering what it'd be like to lay out by this pool on a summer day without a care in the world.

"Don't go too far, kid," Xigbar warned. "You don't want to get in range of the floodlights. If those kick on, we run the risk of being spotted."

Like a child who just got scolded, I crossed my arms petulantly and leaned against the house while waiting for the grownups to finish up, trying really hard not to have second thoughts or a conscience. I had to remind myself that I was the victim here.

"Alright, we're good. I'm going in. Count to twenty, if no alarms are blaring then it's clear to engage. Just mind your step, this window's over a kitchen sink and we don't need broken dishes waking anyone up." He disappeared inside the darkness of the house without a sound, nimbly closing the window behind him.

After about fifteen seconds, the big guy, who I learned was named Lexaeus, reopened the window and I expected to hear the clattering of breaking glass as he slid his huge body through it, but there wasn't any more noise than when Xigbar entered. I took a deep breath and the last guy, Xaldin, followed behind Lexaeus. It was my turn.

I've burglarized before, but never anything so vindictive. Usually the homes of foster parents who have treated me badly, and I never did it while anyone was home. I knew how to get in a house and get out without getting caught. But this was a whole different ball game. I was so consumed with anxiety that I clumsily climbed through the window and sent my foot straight into the dishes in the sink, causing a small clatter that almost sent me into cardiac arrest. Wherever Xigbar was in the house, he was probably cursing me under his breath. Clearly I wasn't as adept as they were.

I recovered from my sloppy entrance and steadied myself. The kitchen was dimly lit by the various appliances. A touch interface on the refrigerator, a light on the stove top, buttons on a coffee machine. There was so much stainless steel and marble, and everything looked so sterile and neat. I trailed my gloved hand over the glossy countertop, indulging in my childish impulse to touch everything. On the fridge were pictures, postcards, souvenir magnets, all carefully arranged. Someone in the family was clearly a control freak. With that in mind, I pushed everything from their original positions and slid them around and made a mess of their careful fridge feng shui. It was a tiny victory. I was admiring my work when a particular photograph caught my eye. It was my mom, her husband, the blond kid, a small red-headed girl, posing with Mickey Mouse at what I figured to be Disney World. Something compelled me to fold it down to a quarter and stick it in my back pocket.

In the dining room, Xaldin was rooting around in the china cabinet, putting silverware and small pieces of crystal glassware into a duffle bag slung across his body. After briefly wondering how he managed to shove his mass of dreads into his balaclava, I left him to it and made my way to the living room, where Lexaeus was ripping the stuffing out of throw pillows. The entertainment center was already rifled through, and it looked as if some of their DVDs and console games were missing. I walked over to the fireplace, picked up the wrought iron stoker, and I jammed it into the middle of their big wall-mounted flatscreen TV, twisting and turning as much as I could without making noise.

We continued our reign of terror, taking whatever could be turned around for a quick buck, sabotaging what we could. I stayed on the first floor, but the others ventured upstairs and returned with jewelry, a laptop, platinum cufflinks. They assured me everyone was asleep, but I declined. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to see Anastasia, sleeping like a baby while the rest of her family remained blissfully ignorant to her transgressions.

And then it was over. The deed was done and we were getting ready to file out and peel off without a second glance. The three of them were out the window and I was about to clamber out behind them but something made me pause and retract my foot. Xigbar gave me a look but I waved him off. I hadn't made my message clear enough. There was a whiteboard on the fridge being used as a grocery list, and in a little holder next to it was a dry-erase marker. I grabbed it and went back into the living room, looking for a nice place on the wall before deciding on underneath a large glossy family portrait by the stairs.

I wrote "love you, mom" in big letters, signed with an uneven little heart. Feeling pleased, I was getting ready to go when I heard the front door opening and softly closing. I froze in panic, feeling like a deer that was about to get flattened by a semi-truck. Unsure footsteps came from the foyer and I heard an audible "What the fuck…" I quickly looked towards the kitchen, trying to calculate if I would be able to quietly sprint and be out the window before I was spotted. My sweat soaked the balaclava, joining the perspiration of the person who wore it before me.

"Stupid alarm," I heard the person say, and I recognized the voice as the blond kid from earlier, Roxas. The other son. He was walking towards the living room so I quickly flattened myself against the wall and hoped to every god out there that he wouldn't see me. And then it dawned on me that it wasn't going to be a pretty sight when he saw his home had been ransacked, and as soon as the thought passed through my head, he was shouting, "Mom! Dad!" And then I heard the keypad of a phone and Roxas's exasperated voice saying, "Hello, yes, our house has been broken into."

I knew it was now or never.

I dropped the marker and bolted. And as I ran through the living room, my breathing labored and my vision blurry, I heard a gasp and heard him tell the police, "There's one still here!"

The cops probably advised him to let me go, that they'd take care of it, that I could've been armed. But as I was climbing out the kitchen window, he grabbed my leg and pulled me back into the house. "Oh no you don't!" He shouted. There was more commotion in the rest of the house and I was struggling to free myself from the kid's grip when two sets of feet entered the kitchen.

"Roxas! What are you doing?" I heard my mom say, almost in hysterics.

He was on top of me, straddling my torso and holding my arms above my head. "I got one of them, I'm holding him until the police get here."

The tall older blond man I figured could only be my dear new step-dad apprehensively stepped towards us and I thrashed beneath Roxas, wondering how someone so small could be so fucking strong. "Roxas," he said comfortingly, his voice even and rational, "I have my pistol. Get up slowly and walk towards me."

"Dad, I've got him. He's not going anywhere."

"Roxas," he said again. "Get off of him."

Like a good son, he obliged, letting my hands out of his grip and for a second I considered strangling him but I remembered the indirect threat of a gun. He got up and my mother grabbed him and pulled him behind her. I could hear sirens in the distance and my heart was pounding against my ribcage. I idly wondered where Xigbar and his crew were, if they knew what had happened.

I still had fight left in me though. I wasn't about to roll over and die. I bolted up and dove towards the window as fast as I'd ever moved in my whole life, half-anticipating to be shot. But when no bullet pierced my innards, I took off as fast as I could towards the car, knowing that Ansem would never let me live it down if the police impounded it. I made it inside, started it up, and floored the gas pedal without a look back. I was high on adrenaline and wasn't thinking about the ramifications of my actions or the severity of what had just happened. I just knew that I had to get far away.

And I probably would've made it too, if the engine hadn't sputtered out at about two miles down the road.

"No, no, no, no!" I shouted, trying to restart the car with no success. I looked at the dials on the dashboard trying to find an indicator for the problem. Temperature was fine, no check engine light, full tank of gas. I paused on the fuel gauge and thought back to what Ansem had said and how I never got gas. "Fuck!"

And then it was all over. Red and blue lights surrounded me. I tore off the balaclava and pressed my sweaty face against the steering wheel, waiting to be carted off to prison.

* * *

The interrogation room smelled like stale coffee and pine oil. My arms were splayed out in front of me as I toyed around with a loose thread from the sleeve of my hoodie. I wrapped it tightly around my pinkie, wondering if it would necrotize by the time the officer came back. But after several more minutes and a purpling fingertip, I unwound it and let out a theatrical groan.

"So, am I arrested or what?" I asked aloud, hoping they could somehow hear me from the outside. More time passed, and finally the large, balding police officer returned and plopped himself in the chair opposite me and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He seemed like he was operating on very little sleep, as evident by his eye bags and grumpy demeanor, but that could have just been his personality.

"Mr. Novak," he said, clearly exasperated, "please make this easier on the both of us and tell me who else was with you in the house."

We had gone through this several times now, and each time I insisted, "Nobody. Just me." The analog clock on the wall behind him read 6:45, we'd been at this for hours.

"We both know that's bullshit. We've searched you and the car and haven't found any of the missing items from the house. Except for, of course, this." He pointed to the creased Disney world photograph that had been sitting in the middle of the table. "Do you want to talk about this yet?"

I leaned back in my chair and shrugged my shoulders. "I just thought it was nice."

The officer pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Arrest me already," I moaned like this was all just a minor inconvenience.

"I can't do that just yet. Not until you tell me who else was there. And I'm going to level with you, Novak, it's not looking good for you. You have priors, a stolen car, driving without a valid drivers' license, a burglary charge, and right now you're walking yourself into a grand larceny charge since you don't want to give up your buddies. All this after just getting off probation."

"I told you already, the car isn't stolen. It's my roommates. But aside from that, guilty as fucking charged. Arrest me." I lazily offered him my wrists.

After the events of the past few weeks, I was mentally drained. I didn't care anymore. Maybe prison was where I belonged. I was a victim of the system, a low-life, I didn't have anything to my name. And when you don't have anything, you don't have anything to lose.

The officer let out a gruff and suddenly there was a knock on the door before it opened and in walked a beat cop who looked like he was fresh out of the academy. "Sir, Mrs. Henley is ready to go home. She is still insisting no charges be filed—" The glare of his senior officer made him realize his mistake. "I guess I should've used more discretion," he said sheepishly, and I could tell someone was going to tear him a new asshole later.

But it was too late. Newbie cop spilled the beans and I knew there wasn't anything they could do if I wasn't under arrest. I gave them the cheekiest, most arrogant grin I could muster as my disposition did a one-eighty, and I stood up and said, "Guess that's my cue. It's been fun, ladies."

The officer's face went from red to almost purple with rage. He looked at me with so much animosity that I thought he was going to snap and choke-slam me. But instead, he took a deep breath and his features softened. "Axel Novak," he said, "you're under arrest for the theft of a motor vehicle." He motioned for the cop to cuff me.

"What? The car's not stolen! It's my roommate's! I told you!" I crossed my arms tightly across my chest. "Call him! You can't arrest me for this!"

"Should I add resisting arrest to your charge?"

I dropped my arms in defeat and was immediately handcuffed. It was nothing new to me. The officer grabbed the nape of my neck and steered me towards the interview room's door. "Go get a holding cell ready," he told the cop. Once he disappeared out the door, he whispered in my ear, "I don't like rude little punks."

Out in the main part of the station, I caught a glimpse of the Henley family. Well, three of them. The little girl from the photo wasn't there. They were sitting with another officer, looking haphazard and tired with their bed hair. Anastasia turned and made eye contact with me. "Is he under arrest?" She loudly demanded, getting up from her chair while her family watched on with looks I couldn't discern.

"Yes ma'am, for stealing a car," he said proudly.

"For the last time, I didn't steal a fuckin' car," I grumbled, averting my gaze to my scuffed up sneakers.

Without hesitation, she blurted, "I'll pay for his bail."

I looked at her like she had just spouted a second head. "You don't have to do that," I said, my voice cracking.

"This guy is no charity case, I assure you, ma'am."

She swallowed hard and looked back at her husband and stepson. She pulled her silk robe tighter around her body like she just wanted to retract inside of it. "He's family," she said finally. "My nephew."

"Your nephew." The officer repeated.

"Yes, and he's going through a really rough time right now. I told my sister I'd look after him. He made a mistake tonight. Please," she begged, "let me get him the help he needs."

At this point, both her family and I were giving her incredulous looks. The officer let out a long, winded sigh. "My wife loves your book, you know." He unlocked my cuffs and I immediately cradled my arms against my chest to nurse the indentation they made in my skin. "I think you and I can work something out to help with your nephew's rehabilitation."

She nodded solemnly as he led us to another desk.

I wasn't quite sure what to say or do, so instead I remained silent, watching the reactions of her family a few feet away. They didn't look confused or betrayed, just mildly shocked as they stared me down, inspecting every facet of my being, moreso Roxas than his father, who appeared to have more tact. I remembered reading that he was a psychiatrist, and I wondered if he was psychoanalyzing me.

Could he tell I was the embodiment of abandoned child syndrome?

The officer and Anastasia, my mother masquerading as a caring aunt, had an exchange that I wasn't listening to. I closed my eyes and wondered if it was all a dream. Or maybe I was dead. Or in a coma.

"Community service," Anastasia said to me, snapping me out of my reverie. "That's agreeable, right?"

Her big brown eyes were sad, like they always were when I knew her back then.

"Whatever," I said, looking up at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. "I'm perfectly fine going to prison, y'know. I don't need your charity."

"I'm not letting you go to prison over a lapse in judgment. We all have those sometimes."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Axel, please," she grabbed my hand, leaning over in her chair so she could get close to my face, "I was wrong. Let me fix this."

The officer cleared his throat over the sound of shuffling papers. "I've got a cozy opening for cleanup at a park not too far. Usually we give this position to underage offenders, but I think it's up your alley."

"Not gonna happen. Besides, I live an hour away and I don't have a car."

He quirked a brow. "I was under the impression you were staying with your aunt."

"He is," Anastasia interjected. "He left about a month ago and I hadn't seen or heard from him, so I guess he was living with a friend. But he'll be moving back in, though. So there should be no problem getting him to and from his community service." Her effortless lies made my blood curdle.

"I can't tell you again how much I advise against this. The others who broke into your home with him are still out there."

"I don't think he'll be pulling a stunt like that again, Officer Bernie," she said softly, never taking her eyes off of me. "We had a misunderstanding, and it will never happen again."

I was stunned silent as I tried to understand her implication. Was she offering me a home in the house I tore apart? Did that mean she was acknowledging me as a son? I quickly looked from her to the officer to her again.

"Alright then," the officer said, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, "It's settled. Have your nephew report at the Lakeview Park starting tomorrow at 7a.m. on the dot. Here's the paperwork. That needs to come with him."

"What if I did actually steal that car?" I asked them. "Doesn't community service feel like a slap on the wrist?"

Anastasia let out a fake, uneasy laugh and gave me a pat on the knee. "You didn't steal that car, Axel. Don't be ridiculous."

The officer was too tired to care anymore and was unfazed.

"Axel, let's go, okay? We have a lot of cleaning up to do." She stood up and started towards her family, who were also up and getting ready to go. I followed suit, because I didn't know what else to do.

"Mr. Novak," the rookie cop from before called out to me, and I turned and he jogged the distance between us. "Your stuff," he said. He handed me a gallon bag with Xigbar's gloves and balaclava, Ansem's car keys, and the Henley's vacation photo. I briefly wondered what became of Xigbar and the others. They were probably laughing it up while eating omelets at Denny's.

Outside the station, the sun was up and the sky was a mix of blues and oranges. Ansem's car had been towed to the station and was now sitting in the parking lot, not too far from Anastasia's red BMW. Her family hadn't said a word and didn't seem any closer to breaking their vow of silence. They stood by her car, waiting for her to unlock it.

"My roommate needs his car back," I said to her.

"We'll have it towed to him."

She clicked a button on her keychain and everyone began to pile in. I apprehensively got into the backseat next to Roxas, who refused to look at me.

Anastasia let out a sigh. "This is new for everyone, but that doesn't mean we have to tiptoe around the subject."

Roxas piped up, "I'm not tiptoeing, I just don't have anything to say to criminals."

"Roxas," his father warned.

"It fine," I said, "he's not wrong. I was willing to go to prison."

"There's just one thing I've got to know," Roxas said, "Who is he? He isn't a neighbor, and you don't have any siblings, mom."

She took a deep breath and I could see her husband touch her arm comfortingly. "He's a member of this family," she said simply.

"Just tell them I'm your son," I blurted.

The rest of the ride was silent.


	5. chapter four

**A/N:** Just want to take a moment to thank everyone who favorites, watches, and reviews. Stay rad.

* * *

_chapter four;  
_**blueberry pancakes**

* * *

When I opened my eyes, nothing felt right. I shot up, blinked away the rheum and scraped crust from the corners of my eyes, and the light emitted from the window above the bed cast a somber glow into the unfamiliar room. It couldn't have later than 4a.m. but I was awake, too awake, and I was hyperaware of my surroundings; from the tea-rose colored walls and the wooden armoire, to the dust motes and the dull lavender smell of the bed sheets. At first, I was confused as to where I was, because I certainly wasn't on a lumpy futon in a room that smelled like dirty laundry and asocial tendencies. But then I remembered I was in a spare bedroom of the house that, about twenty-four hours before, I had broken into.

When we got to the house after a very uncomfortable car ride from the police station where I had declared my affiliation to their beloved matron, there was a collective inexorable "picking up the pieces" mentality. No one really said anything, we just entered the house to survey the damage, and I couldn't help but to cringe at the severity of our rampage. Baskets, drawers, and chairs overturned. Polyester stuffing and down covering the floor like snow. Trinkets and valuables missing. A battered flat screen TV. And that's not even assessing the emotional damage, the violation and betrayal, feeling like your own home isn't safe anymore. And here I was to bear witness. Was this my punishment? Crippling guilt?

I immediately started trying to clean up the mess before they could fully process it.

As I cleaned the living room, they paced throughout the rest of the house verbally cataloguing what was missing. They were stoic, yelling out things like, "my Xbox", "my leather coat", "my grandmother's sapphire ring". At one point, Roxas came bounding down the stairs in hysterics. "My laptop," he said, "My laptop is gone and my paper for school was on it and it was due today! Our insurance policy isn't going to prevent me from flunking lit class!"

"I'm sure your teacher will give you an extension given the circumstances," his father soothed, but it wasn't enough to tame the fire. Roxas stomped over to me as I was sweeping up pillow stuffing and shoved me harder than I'd like to admit. "This is all your fault! Go ruin someone else's life!" He shouted, before stomping over to Anastasia, who gave him a hug, whispered something in his ear, and dismissed him from clean up duty. I felt a pang of jealousy, because even though she fessed up to me being her kid, I was still, and would probably always be, an outsider. It was a reminder that I wasn't in prison because of her guilt, not because she cared about me.

"Axel," she called out to me, her tone casual, like she wasn't addressing her long-lost son. She was in the kitchen, scrawling inventory on a legal pad.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied with an indiscreet bite.

"You look exhausted. Want me to show you to the room you'll be staying in?"

I rubbed my eyes, it had been well over a day since I last slept and I was in desperate need for a shower. Exasperated, I asked, "Why are you doing this?"

And she pursed her lips and looked out the window over the sink, the window we used to break in. "I told you, I was wrong. I can't imagine the pain I put you through, and I want to make up for it. This was a decision I made after you left yesterday, before the burglary. You're my son, Axel. I'm responsible for you."

I scoffed. "I'm twenty-five. I don't need someone to be responsible for me anymore. I'm a grown-ass man."

"You're free to leave. I'll give you cab money, and you can go back to your apartment and get arrested when you don't show up to community service. Or, you can stay here, free of charge, and let me help you. Let _us _help you."

She turned and looked me in the eyes, like she somehow knew her eyes were my weakness. My mother was tall, falling only four or five inches below my 6'3", and she was thin, like me, but softer, with rounded hips and laugh lines. It was weird, because she was my mother, and it's a fact that's hard to hide with genes like these.

"What happened to complicating things?" I asked, mocking her tone from yesterday when she had used those words on me. "Aren't you worried about what your husband and stepson think about this? Because you were very worried not too long ago. Not to mention the added insult of breaking and entering."

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said, Axel. And I understand you being upset with me. But it's never too late to start over. We will all adjust to this. I promise." She put her left hand on mine, her diamond wedding ring glistening in the sunlight filtering in from the window. "Come, I'll show you to your room."

I didn't say anything, just followed at her heels, bypassing her husband who was reorganizing what remained of their fine china, stopping only to cast a reassuring smile in her direction. My heart throbbed at the small intimate gesture and I wondered if my father ever smiled at her like that.

We passed through the living room, past my dry-erase marker graffiti on the wall that no one had yet acknowledged, and made our way up the stairs. There was a trail of school photos of Roxas and the little redheaded girl lining the stairway, starting from the drool-stained overalls of pre-kindergarten, all the way to the dress shirts and low-cut blouses of high school. I couldn't discern Roxas's age because he appeared to stop aging after the awkward faux-hawke preteen years, but counting the portraits like rings on a tree stump put him at around seventeen or eighteen, and the little girl's photos stopped at what looked to be fourteen or fifteen, so she wasn't so little anymore.

"That's Kairi," Anastasia told me, and I noticed I had stopped ascending so I could examine the pictures. "She's your half-sister. She's at school, much to her chagrin, and she'll be home later. I'm sure she's dying to meet you."

A sister. I had a sister. An actual biological sister. For some reason, that made me really happy.

The second floor was a daunting hallway with too many doors. I was led to a room on the end, which I was thankful for, and it was just a spare bedroom adorned with pinks and whites and beiges. I didn't know Anastasia very well, but the room felt very _her_, and I imagined her picking out the wall color and the drapes and the lace pillowcases with only self-reflection in mind. Maybe her husband didn't want a frilly bedroom, so they agreed she could have this one spare room to reign over with her ultra-feminine touch. It was a total mom-room.

"It's a little pink," she said, as if reading my mind. "I hope you don't mind."

And I did mind, but I also didn't. I ended up falling asleep before noon and sleeping up until I jolted awake in the wee hours of the following morning.

After reestablishing where I was, I rolled out of bed and all the bones in my body creaked with agony. My hair was matted with sweat and melted pomade. I turned on a light and explored the room a bit, finding it had a decent sized walk-in closet that was filled with legal documents and vacuum-sealed winter coats. Through another mystery door, I heard angels singing when it turned out to be an on suite bathroom, complete with a shower and embroidered towels. I was about to dive right it when I remembered I didn't have any clean clothes to change into.

In a fit of desperation, I began to rifle through the drawers of the armoire, finding only old photographs and more documents. Then I thought about wearing nothing but a mink coat from the closet, but I figured that would be in poor taste. With a sigh of defeat, I resigned to the fact I'd have to wait to shower, and I decided to go get a drink of water and maybe find some food because no one thought to feed me in my stay so far.

As I made my way down the hallway, I noticed one of the doors was cracked and a light was on. I figured whoever was awake could get me some clean clothes, so without thinking too hard about it I stuck my head in, only to see the back of Roxas's head as he slumped over a desk in the opposite end of the room. I was about to loudly ask him what he was doing up at this hour and where I could find some clothes, but I noticed his too-rhythmic breathing and concluded he was fast asleep. With a strange curiosity, I tip-toed in, taking in the décor of his room. It was too clean for a teenaged boy, no cum-socks or junk food wrappers. His light blue walls were empty, his bed was made. It didn't look too different from my room, minus the pink and frills. It was impersonal, and that's when I concluded Roxas must've been a robot.

I walked over to the desk. Aside from his face, his desk was covered in open text books, novels, pens, a few sheets of paper, and a mug of unfinished coffee. Peering over him, I realized he must've been trying to rewrite the paper that was on the laptop Xigbar stole. He didn't get past his opening paragraph.

I had to call Xigbar and see about undoing some of the damage before everything had been sold off. I wondered if the Henley's were old school enough to have a landline.

My train of thought was lost when I heard groaning. In a zombie-like trance, Roxas raised his head up and looked at me, not yet awake enough to make sense of the situation. We held each other's gaze in a weird stand-off for at least a minute, until Roxas grumbled, "Go away, jerk." So I backed up out the door and closed it, mumbling, "Fuck you, blondie" under my breath while thinking how nice it must be to live in a world where all you have to worry about is an English paper.

* * *

Anastasia was an early-riser. I tried to remember if she'd always been like that, but little kids have a poor sense of time.

She knocked on the door of my new bedroom, reminding me that I had to start my community service today. At my request, she brought me clothes, a Frankenstein conglomeration of things from both Roxas and his dad with the promise we could go get my stuff from Ansem's place later. I took the best shower of my life, and then I tried not to think who the too-big boxer shorts I was lent belonged to.

Once I was no longer grimey, I made my way downstairs, following the scent of food emanating from the kitchen. The scene was so sickeningly story-book; Mr. Henley at the stove, Anastasia pouring glasses of orange juice, and two beautiful blue-eyed children at the breakfast table eating chocolate chip pancakes in their button-downs and ironed blazers. Of course they went to private school.

Kairi made eye-contact with me first. "Whoa," she said, dropping her fork onto her plate, "Sweet tattoos!" She smiled brightly, exposing her braces with purple rubber-bands. Roxas rolled his eyes.

"Thanks," I said, "I grew them myself." My horrible attempt at humor had the girl in stitches and already I liked her much better than her grumpy brother. I reached my hand out to her. "I'm Axel."

"Kairi," she said, unable to keep a straight face. She looked more like her father than Anastasia, with her soft features and oceanic eyes. She tucked a piece of her shoulder length red hair behind her ear.

"Good morning, Axel," Mr. Henley greeted, and it was the first time he ever spoke directly to me. "What do you like in your pancakes?"

"Uh…" I hesitated. No one had ever asked me that. The concept of putting different things in pancakes was foreign to me.

"Let me guess," he narrowed his eyes at me, making a low 'hmmm' sound, before concluding "You're a blueberry man."

"Sure," I said, taking a seat at the breakfast table next to Kairi who was still ogling the exposed ink on my neck and forearms.

"This is so cool," Kairi exclaimed, "I can't believe I have an older brother!" Roxas cleared his throat, shooting her a harsh look. "_Another_ older brother," she corrected herself for his ego's sake. "So, Axel, tell me about this tattoo." She pointed to a generic pin-up girl that spanned my inner-arm.

"That was me being a horny teenager while trying to appear artsy and cool," I admitted without hesitation. She giggled.

"How about this one?" This time she pointed to the cardinal on the side of my neck.

"I dunno, I thought cardinals were really cool at the time?"

"They're just fat little red birds," Roxas grumbled. "What a stupid tattoo."

Mr. Henley set a plate of pancakes in front of me and I nodded him a thanks before digging in. They probably didn't realize it, but this was the first family breakfast that I had ever been a part of, and thus would never forget for as long as I lived. And weirdly, for the first time ever, I felt like I belonged somewhere.

It was short lived, though. Because when Anastasia announced it was time for me to go serve my community service, it brought back the very real reality; that I was just some punk that could never mesh with their white picket fence and family breakfast existence. Something hung in the air, a series of unspoken accusations, and I was still very mad that I got cheated out of a decent childhood, but these people weren't bad people. Not Mr. Henley, the understanding husband, not Kairi, the innocent bright-eyed little sister, not even Roxas, the grumpy hero. They didn't deserve to suffer for Anastasia's misgivings.

She drove me to the park, trying to be cordial and act like everything was normal, but I could see right through it. She had to resent me just as much as I resented her. Her words and topics of discussion were careful and calculated, she asked me about the present and future, but never the past. I wonder what she saw when she looked at me. Was I a son, or a rehabilitation project? Her book boasted on about her desire to help those in need so that when they were weeping with joy over overcoming the odds they will dedicate their success to the woman who nursed their broken wings through print. It wasn't about helping for the good of the world, it was about the eagerness to feel better about herself and her mistakes. It was about guilt.

Guilt. That small word that hung between us since that day at the bookstore. Why is it such a motivator?

"Are you my mom or my sponsor?" I found myself asking her as she rolled to a stop in the parking lot.

She blinked a few times and looked at me, cocking her head to the side. "What do you mean, Axel?"

"Well, you didn't want to be my mom for twenty years, yet here you are acting like everything's kosher. Do you see me as a son? Or am I just some troubled being that you want to patch up so that you can sleep better at night?"

"You're my son, Axel," she sighed, exasperated. Her calm resolve shattered. "Do you know how I knew where you lived? I hired a private investigator to follow you around months ago, after years of looking you up on the internet every night before bed. Why? Because I wanted to know you were okay. I wasn't a good mom, I know that, but don't for a second think I never cared."

"So why now? Why not a year ago? Two years ago? Five? Ten? Why do I get a mom now?" My voice was rising to the point of borderline yelling.

"I guess it took meeting you in person to make me realize."

"Realize what?" I demanded.

"That I love you," she murmured, in the most sincere voice that I'd ever heard. But her implication wounded me, and I got out of the car and slammed the door, welcoming the thought of labor in the hot sun to dry the tears welling in my stupid fucking eyes.

* * *

Community service was community service. Been there, done that. I picked up garbage and scrubbed away Sharpie drawings of dicks in the bathroom stalls while a park manager in cargo shorts stood over me to make sure I wasn't goofing off. Nearing the end of allocated service hours, I sweet talked the manager into lending me a couple quarters for the pay phone. I told him I needed to call my ride, when I was actually punching in those ten digits that got me into this mess in the first place. Xigbar picked up on the third ring, and upon realizing it was me burst into a fit of raucous laughter.

"Oh god, Axel!" More laughter. "Please don't tell me your calling from prison! That would just be too much for my old man heart to handle!"

"Hahaha, fuck you too, Xigbar. I'm actually not in prison. I need a favor though. A big one."

He coughed a few times, clearing his throat to signify he was all business now. "Lay it on me, kid. Though I should remind you that you already owe me for that flawless heist we pulled the other night."

"Yeah… About that…"

"Hey, you can't blame me for getting caught. We tried to tell you a car pulled up in the driveway but you were too busy doing your own thing."

"Wait, you mean someone came home?"

"You said three people lived there. There was a woman, a man, and a little girl all accounted for. We weren't expecting a fourth."

I groaned. "I said family of at least _four_."

"Anyway," he aggressively interjected. "Enough about that shit show, what d'ya need?"

"Would it maybe be possible if, like, I could have some of the stuff we stole from the house back? Please?"

There was silence, and then there was a dial tone

I was tempted to ask for more quarters so I could call again, but I figured it'd be a lost cause either way. So I slammed the phone onto the receiver, kicked a small rock, and sat on a park bench waiting for my mother to pull up in her gaudy overpriced car so we can make each other feel awkward on the long drive to Ansem's apartment. But instead of the red BMW, a black Bentley pulled up and impatiently honked. I looked around to see if they were waiting for someone else, but at noon on a Tuesday, the park was pretty dead. They honked again, their hand lingering on the horn so that it was drawn out for a few extra seconds.

I shuffled over to the car, hoping it wasn't some drug dealer or gang banger I had pissed off in the past. But when the driver's side window rolled down and a disgruntled blond head poked out, I knew that wasn't the case.

"Come on, get in," he said, looking disgusted that my impure existence had to taint his presence.

"You're not who I was expecting," I challenged, cocking my hip to the side.

"Yeah, well I wasn't expecting having to have to play chauffeur to a criminal."

That shut me up. I got in, trying not to have an orgasm over how beautiful the car was. I don't consider myself a car guy, but I couldn't deny that the cream colored leather interior and touch-screen console interface didn't get my horses running. The only thing that killed my automobile boner was the fact that Roxas was the owner. I looked over at him but he kept his face forward. "Please don't tell me that you're driving me all the way to Cesterfield. I'd honestly rather walk."

"Believe me, I'd let you do that in a heartbeat if I wasn't doing my mother and father a favor."

I quirked my brow at him, not that he could see, and said, "Aren't you supposed to be in school or something?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I get out at noon. I have more credits than I need and there's no reason to fill three hours with pointless electives. I use the extra time to study, participate in extracurricular activities, do volunteer work, anything that looks good on transcripts and college applications." He glanced at me. "If my vocabulary is too advanced for you, just let me know and I'll dumb it down."

"You're like a fuckin' robot. And no, your," air quotes, "Vocabulary," end air quotes, "Is not too advanced for me, you pretentious sack of potatoes."

"I didn't mean to offend," he said in a tone that made it clear that being offensive was exactly his intention. "I just figured you didn't have any formal schooling. Your name-calling exemplifies my point."

"Sorry I didn't grow up with a silver spoon up my ass."

"Apology accepted, Axel."

I bit down on my inner cheek to stop myself from screaming. "What is your problem? Didn't your stepmom teach you to be good to those less fortunate than you and to love thy neighbor and all that other shit?"

"First of all, she's not 'my stepmom', she's my mom. I get that she gave birth to you and not me, but don't think for a second you or Kairi have more of a claim over her than I do. Secondly, I am good to those who deserve it. You burgled and desecrated our home, and everyone wants to pretend like it's okay because, 'oh, boo-hoo, Axel is a victim of the system'. Everyone's a victim—"

"Oh yeah?" I interjected, "What're you a victim of, princess?"

"A victim of having my life torn apart and my mom's good nature being taken advantage of."

I let out a dry laugh. "Are you serious? You think I wanted this?"

"You should've just left her alone."

I didn't know what to say to that, because for a moment, I agreed. I should've just left her alone, left her home and her family alone. I should've been just waking up in my futon in Ansem's apartment after a night of drinking and smoking enough pot to keep me mellow into next week. I should've been hanging out with Riku and Naminé while pretending I wasn't a third wheel. In fact, I should've been working at the deli despite hating it, and I shouldn't have violated my probation to go to Marion. I shouldn't have hit Riku that night at the club. I shouldn't have dropped out of high school after turning eighteen. I should've sucked up my pity and lived a decent life, instead of pissing away everything and blaming it on everyone else.

_No_, I thought to myself, _I'm owed something._

"How would you feel if your birth mother left you high and dry and two decades later you find out she has a new family that you weren't good enough to be a part of?"

"I would feel like she probably had a very good reason for doing so."

"Then tell me, Roxas, what was your mom's good reason for leaving me behind? I mean, I didn't even make it into her book, which is a fucking memoir of her life. She erased me. I read that thing cover to cover, she had no problem talking about her flagrant drug use and all the guys she banged, but she couldn't mention the fucking kid that was in the middle of it all."

"Calm down," he said, which only got me more riled up.

"Easy for you to say! Your real mom died and you still grew up with a maternal figure!"

"Don't you dare talk about that," he hissed.

"What? That you have a dead mom? Sorry, kiddo. Your mom's dead, and no matter how much you tell yourself that Anastasia's your mom, she isn't." Words were flowing out of my mouth like venom and I couldn't stop them. "That's what this is about isn't it? You don't like me because you hate the fact that she's really my mom."

We were on the highway at this point, and Roxas immediately pulled into shoulder lane and slammed on the brakes. "Look here, Axel," he said, turning to grip the collar the t-shirt I was wearing that probably belonged to him. "You don't know me or my family. That's right, _my _family. I don't like you, but my mom wants you around and because I'm a good son, I'll go along with it. But if you ever bring up that presumptuous garbage again, I will not hesitate to do everything in my power to get rid of you, do you understand?"

"Don't fuckin' threaten me, blondie. I have a foot on you."

He sneered. "Dare I remind you of the other night when I had you pinned with ease? Face it, you're all bark and no bite. I'm not afraid of you."

"But I'm a _criminal_, remember?"

"Yeah, a dumb one who got caught." He let me go and leaned back in his seat, rubbing his temples like this was all giving him a headache. With a heavy sigh, he put the car back into gear, straightened his tie, and merged back on to the highway. "I said I'd get you to your apartment. So that's what I'm going to do."

"Why you and not her?"

"She thought it'd be a good idea for us to get to know each other."

"Look how well that's turning out."

When I walked through the door of the apartment, Ansem looked like he was seeing a ghost. He charged over from the living room and looked me up and down, inspecting me for any sign of paranormal activity. "The audacity," he moaned theatrically after concluding I was real.

"Ansem, I wasn't expecting you to be home. I figured you'd be at work."

He let out an audible 'pah' and flicked his hand at me. "I took a few vacation days when you didn't return with my car, since I didn't know if I'd see it, or you, ever again."

"I'm super sorry," I tried, but he shook his head.

"I got a knock on the door yesterday morning from some greasy mechanic saying that he was dropping my car off to me. I said to him 'where's Axel?' and he proceeded to engage me in a discussion about Guns N' Roses for twenty minutes until I finally managed to get rid of him. So then I go to check on my baby, and she's completely out of gas. So I had to walk a mile in this sweltering heat to the gas station with a gas can just so I could get her going. I had no explanation for why it was being returned to me without you, no phone call, nothing. Your friends showed up last night since they hadn't heard from you either and I told them they ought to start planning a memorial service because either you were out there dead or you were going to be when you showed back up here."

"Ansem," I said seriously, my hands on his shoulders.

"What?"

"I fucked up, I'm sorry. Really sorry. But I'm moving out like right now and you'll never have to deal with my shenanigans again, just please don't kill me."

"You're… You're leaving me?" His face fell. "Let me guess, you've been off with some girl, huh? Is she downstairs? She's probably bad news—"

"There's no girl," I started to say, but he was out the front door and darting down the corridor stairs before I could utter the first world. Ansem was a drama queen, you just had to let him run his course. I rolled my eyes and followed after him.

He deduced my ride was the black Bentley since it was idling in a no-parking zone in front of the building and marched up to it. Roxas rolled down the window with an irritated look on his face and said, "I know, no parking. I'm just waiting for someone."

"Ansem, that's Roxas. Roxas, Ansem," I said between winded breaths. I never did like living on the fifth floor.

All Ansem could say was, "Oh." And I knew that he assumed that Roxas was my star-crossed lover that I was eloping with, and I didn't feel like correcting him.

Roxas furrowed his brows. "Axel, did you get your stuff? I have things to do today that don't involve you."

"Wow," Ansem crooned, "He's adorable!"

"Isn't he?" I said in the most condescending way possible.

"W-what?" Roxas's face flushed. "Ugh, don't ogle me like I'm a small dog. Go get your stuff."

"C'mon Ansem, help me get my shit to the car before he blows a gasket. And on our way up, I'll tell you the real story."

It was a tearful farewell, but Ansem understood. I promised him I'd keep in touch and thanked him for his hospitality and apologized once again for stealing his car, which Roxas's baby blues had made him forget about. I threw my small batch of belongings into a garbage bag with room to spare. Roxas crinkled his nose at my choice of item transportation, because people like him probably used satin garment boxes and Louis Vuitton luggage, and insisted I hold onto it instead of put it in the backseat where it ran the risk of transmitting diseases to his heated leather seats. But when I got in, I threw it back before he could stop me. We pulled out and Ansem waved from the balcony until we were out of sight.

"Look Roxas, I know we got off to a bad start, but do you think we can make one more stop before we head back?"

"That depends, will it be a quick stop and is it of utmost importance?"

"Yes to both, Captain Cranky." He narrowed his eyes at me, like he is so prone to do, and I threw my head back and groaned. "Sorry! That was the last of the name-calling, scout's honor!"

"Fine," he groaned. "Where are we going?"


	6. chapter five

chapter five;  
**brotherly bonding**

* * *

"Dude," I said, leaning into Riku whose face was turning an uncomfortable shade of red as he tried his hardest not to burst into a fit of laughter. "Dude, I think you might have some competition." Despite all effort, he let out a snort, sending spit and snot particles raining down like confetti. "I mean, look at him over there." I leaned in closer to his ear, my mouth barely grazing his lobe, "Don't you just want to kick his ass?"

We were lounging on his couch watching Roxas and Naminé interact like it was reality TV, not paying attention to the History channel special about WWII that was actually on. Roxas was flipping through one of her many portfolios and they were animatedly chatting as if they were old friends. Since I introduced him to Naminé, he hadn't left her side, probably finding solace in the fact she looked normal, unlike me and Riku who found our solace in body modification. She was in the middle of a painting when we showed up, and instead of being forced into social situations with me and Riku, Roxas insisted on seeing more of her work.

"Aw, he's like twelve. It wouldn't feel right kicking his ass, ya'know?" Riku said, playfully pushing me to the other side of the loveseat.

"What do you think they're talking about?" I asked him.

"Probably something lame like, 'oooh, you have blonde hair and blue eyes and so do I.'"

"Can you imagine how sickeningly pure their children would be? Like porcelain dolls. Hitler's wet dream."

"Ew, dude, imagine the sex. It would be all missionary for the sole purpose of procreation."

"With the lights off," I added.

"And they're clothed from the waist up."

We looked at each other, trying to keep a serious composure, but we cracked up. Naminé's head perked upwards from over at the dining room table and she raised her eyebrows at us. "What're you boneheads over there laughing about?"

"They're high," Roxas deadpanned with an indiscreet roll of his eyes. We'd offered him a hit of the joint Riku rolled shortly after we got there, but he reacted as if we tried to hold him down and inject him with uncut heroin. 'That stuff is disgusting,' he'd said with a crinkled nose. 'It's a gateway drug.'

"We're just laughing at how fucking gross it'd be if you banged Roxas," Riku admitted without missing a beat, casually leaning back and propping his feet on the coffee table to exemplify the negative amount of fucks he gave over social conventions.

Roxas squirmed and went pink in the cheeks but Naminé was unfazed, being way too used to our antics to find offense. She laughed it off for Roxas's sake and went back to her artwork.

"So, he's like your brother right?" Riku finally asked. While Roxas was hanging out with Naminé, I gave Riku the run-down of the past couple days, from the burglary to my pink room to blueberry pancakes.

I shrugged. "I don't know what any of them are, honestly. It's all so surreal, like, this is the type of shit that only happens in _Lifetime_ movies."

"You should get your own reality series and call it 'Keeping Up With Axel And His Stereotypically White Upper-Class Family.' It'll be like _Diff'rent Strokes_, except instead of a black kidney kid, there's you, the lanky ass motherfucker who comes up with snarky one-liners that everyone responds to with hands on their hips and a well-placed, 'that's our Axel!' Cue outro."

"The Henley's are too vanilla for American prime-time. I mean, look at Roxas. Would you want to watch thirty minutes of him wearing sweater vests and being entitled?"

"Nah, I guess not…"

After smoking up some more, we wandered towards the kitchen in search of some snacks and passed the table where Naminé and Roxas were situated. Naminé was explaining different brush strokes and color harmony, and I didn't know if Roxas was truly interested or if he knew hanging with her was the safer option. Or maybe anything was better than having to deal with me. Through the archway into the kitchen from the dining room, I found myself watching him, analyzing his mannerisms. He sat with his back straight and his hands folded in his lap, nodding along to whatever Naminé was saying. His blazer was neatly hung on the back of his chair, and there were no wrinkles or creases in his too-white dress shirt. I wondered what made him so uptight. Would that have been me if I had the same upbringing he did?

There was an aggressive pull on my shoulder and I turned to face Riku who quirked a brow. "You gonna answer me or what?"

"Sorry, what was the question?"

"How many pizza rolls will you eat?"

"Just make the whole bag, maybe the Olsen twins over there will eat some."

I went back to watching Roxas, except instead of a profile of his head, I was face-to-face with two very blue eyes. "Quit staring," he spat at me.

Flustered at being called out, I let out a huff. "Relax princess, I wasn't staring at you."

"Yeah, right."

"Holy shit," I said, throwing my hands in the hair, "You're so insufferable." I turned back into the kitchen where Riku looked very amused by our quarrel.

"Why don't _you _go kick his ass?"

"Believe me, I want to."

"The Axel I know would've already decked him."

I waved him off with a defeated chuckle. "That ship has sailed, I'm a family man now."

"Oh yeah? Well since you're such a family man, I guess you're not going to want to celebrate with me."

"Celebrate what?"

"Ya'know, you being alive and shit. It's still early, I can make some phone calls and we can get this place going."

"On a Tuesday night? Besides, Roxas won't go for it. He's all about homework and family dinners."

"So we ease him into it."

I thought for a moment and casted a glance back in Roxas's direction. "I dunno…"

"C'mon man! Our last party was a huge hit, you got laid! Maybe we can get Roxas laid too, and the woman who pulls the stick out of his ass will be crowned King Arthur." I smiled at the thought. "Besides," Riku added, "Now that you're living far away, we have to make up for the time we won't be spending together anymore."

"I mean, as great as your point is, I don't know if I have rules now."

"Fuck them and their rules. You really think they'll give you shit after all you've been through? They ought to be moisturizing your asshole with lotion made of finely ground-up diamonds, dude."

I figured Riku was right. It would take some audacity to scold the kid you abandoned. "Fine," I said. "_Fine._"

Riku looked like a kid on Christmas morning. "So, how do you want to do this?"

Turns out, it was easier than expected. All it took was Naminé asking Roxas if he'd like to stay for dinner, and I'm sure at some point in charm school he was taught to not turn down a nice woman. "Sounds lovely," he said to her, giving her a smile that brought out the dimples I didn't realize he had on account to his perpetual scowl. "Do you need help in the kitchen?"

"Oh sweetheart," she crooned, "I'm not cooking. But I am ordering a pizza. Any requests?"

By the time the pizza arrived, guests had already piled in around us, most of them familiar faces from the last shindig. Roxas had disappeared into the sea of people, so I didn't know if he was still following at Naminé's heels or if he was calling his parents to tattle on me, but that was only a by-the-way thought on my mind. Front and center was the prospect of seeing my one-night stand again, the cute black-haired waif from several days ago. I wasn't looking for love, but damn if I wasn't a chauvinistic pig when it came to giving in to my dick's wants. Using my ridiculous height to my advantage, I scanned the room.

Instead of sex with no strings attached, I found Roxas squished between two people on the sofa, neither of them paying any mind to him. Feeling like I had some moral obligation, I made my way over to him. "You alright?" I asked, taking a sip of the vodka tonic in my red Solo cup.

"No," he grumbled, the look on his face leaning towards a cross between petulance and constipation. "You all lied to me. I want to go home."

"Whoa, man. I didn't lie to you. And it's not a big deal, it's a little get-together. Have some fun for once in your life. Want a drink?" I offered him my cup.

He scrunched his nose and shook his head. "No, I want to leave. Help me find my blazer and let's go. I did not agree to this."

"Quit being so lame, it's my last night in town. Surely you can think about someone other than yourself for five fucking minutes?"

His voice rose substantially. "I know you of all people aren't preaching to me about self-involvement."

"Aren't we supposed to be engaging in brotherly bonding? Wasn't that the whole reason they sent you?"

"This isn't bonding! This is you exploiting my naivety! I took you to your friends' house, sat around for several hours and took being the butt of your jokes without complaint, and here I am at the seat of a very illegal house party when I should be at home with my family! You know Axel, for a second, I almost pitied you and your struggles. I almost felt bad for being so harsh. But now I'm certain you're a Grade A scumbag and that's all you'll ever be." He slapped the bottom of my cup, sending the contents onto my t-shirt, before liberating himself from between the two oblivious party-goers who couldn't hear our argument over the music and intoxication. I instinctively reached out to grab his shoulder, but he knocked my hand away and stomped off.

"Roxas!" I tried, but his name was drowned out by infectious drum and bass. With a grumble, I looked down at my wet shirt and decided to find Riku to see if he'd lend me a clean one of his. I found him hot-boxing in the guest room with Naminé and some other people while playing Scrabble, and he was in the middle of arguing that 'boner' was a valid word.

"Axel!" He said, "Tell them. Tell them that 'boner' is a playable word. I've got nine points riding on this."

"If I do, can I borrow a shirt?"

He looked up from the board, eying the wet spot on my torso. "You piss a girl off?"

"That's a pretty accurate summation of events."

"In our room, dresser under the TV, second shelf."

"Thanks, man."

"Um, Axel? Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, you can use the word 'boner' in Scrabble. It has a non-sexual definition."

I left them to their game and weed and made my way upstairs to the master bedroom, but when I turned the handle, it was locked. When I knocked, a muffled voice said, "Go away." And I knew right away who it was.

"Ugh, Roxas. Open up. Please."

"Leave me alone."

I leaned against the door. "I actually just need to get in there for a clean shirt since someone decided to make me wear my drink. You can go back to pouting when I'm done."

There was silence, and then I heard the soft padding of his feet on the carpet. I backed up and the door opened, revealing a very despondent looking Roxas. I carefully stepped past him and he shut the door behind me, letting out a sigh. We both opted for silence as I rifled through Riku's t-shirt drawer and he resumed his position on the edge of the bed. I pulled out a ratty band shirt and turned to face him.

"So how come you haven't just left without me?" I broke the silence.

"I told my parents I'd get you here and back."

"I'm sure they'd understand if you explained to them what a Grade A scumbag I am."

Roxas glanced at my eyes and then back at the floor. "I'm sorry for the name-calling. That was immature of me."

"Jesus Christ, dude! Aren't you like sixteen? You're allowed to be immature! It's part of life! Call me a scumbag, call me an ass-licker, I don't care! I'm not going to push my imaginary glasses up the bridge of nose and sneer at your so-called immaturity."

"Seventeen, almost eighteen," he corrected. "My birthday is in July."

"It doesn't fucking matter how old you are. Point is, you're a kid. You're so up your own ass that you're missing out on the best days of your life. Instead of moping, you should be out there hooking up with cute college girls." I pulled my wet shirt over my head and threw it next to him. "C'mon, let's go downstairs and we'll find you someone nice."

"No thanks, I have a girlfriend."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Let me guess, she lives in Canada or something? Is she a supermodel?"

"No, she goes to my school and she has a part-time job as a barista."

"Alright, then how are you a virgin?"

Roxas flushed. "I'm not! We have se—" He stopped himself. "We make love, not that it's any of your business."

"Oh yeah?"

"I don't have to prove anything to you." He crossed his arms over chest and looked away with a huff. I couldn't help but to laugh at his obvious insecurity.

"Is that where you were Sunday night? Sleeping with your girlfriend?"

"We weren't… doing that. We were talking and stuff."

"On a school night?" I feigned a gasp. "What would Jesus think?"

"Well, if I didn't go, I probably never would have caught you breaking into our house. So Jesus is probably glad everything worked out."

We fell into a silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. I shook out the wrinkles in Riku's t-shirt and went to put it on, but as I was putting my head through the collar, I caught Roxas staring. There was a moment of internal debate on whether or not to call him out on it. But before I could make my decision, Roxas cleared his throat and went out of his way to look everywhere but in my general direction. "Sorry," he said, "I spaced out."

"It's okay, I know I have a nice body." With the t-shirt laying bunched up at my shoulders, I trailed my hands down my torso.

"Get a grip," he said, and left it at that.

I pulled the shirt all the way on and sat on the bed next to him, casually slinging my arm around his shoulder. "Hey, Roxas?"

"Yes?" He asked. In that moment, he looked like an innocent child with his big blue eyes and spatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. And maybe underneath his harsh exterior, that's all he really was.

"Let's be friends."

He eyed me curiously. "Why would you want to be friends with me? Are you just saying that because you're drunk and probably high?"

"No, I'm saying it because being hostile towards each other isn't gonna solve anything."

"Axel, I don't like you."

"Why?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"You know what? I'm going to tell you a story."

* * *

_High school was a nightmare._

_Regardless of circumstances, high school is usually pretty awful, but when you're tall and easily distinguishable from a crowd, there's no option of keeping your head down and pretending to be invisible for the next four years. I knew I needed a defense mechanism that would make me appear stronger, more confident, like a peacock and his mass of feathers. No one had to know of my suffering, that I had no real friends or family, or that I cried hot tears onto my pillows at night until the sun came up. With sarcasm and charisma as my trusty companions, I made sure people fell at my feet and laughed at my jokes and sat with me for lunch behind the science building where we'd smoke cigarettes with disinterest. _

_During the hours of 8a.m. to 3p.m., I was something. I was _someone_. No one gave me polite smiles out of pity or treated me like was defective. I wasn't Axel: the unwanted kid, I was Axel: that guy who has rad hair and drug hook-ups. And I basked in all the attention, hoping maybe I could fill the void in my chest. I'd act out and start fights. I'd back-talk teachers and incite disobedience. I'd skip class and hook up with both girls and boys under the bleachers until it ultimately ended in a gonorrhea outbreak. And at the end of the day, I'd walk to wherever my home was that week and deal with whatever punishment I deserved for my insubordination._

_And this was my life before I got expelled._

_My expulsion came as no surprise to anybody, of course. But the whole situation started innocently enough when a group of me and my pals were sitting at a table in the cafeteria before class started. It was a Monday and everyone was excitedly chatting about what they did over the weekend, when some snot-nosed punk said something along the lines of, "My mom wouldn't let me go out Saturday night because she wanted to have a nice family dinner with me instead. What a bitch, right?"_

_Everyone else kind of nodded along, and despite the blood curdling beneath my skin, I coolly responded with, "Oh definitely. How dare she try to show her love. What a cunt."_

_This kid wasn't the brightest, so he didn't pick up on the sarcasm. "Totally. I wish she'd just fuckin' disappear sometimes. You know she said she wasn't getting me a car? She said I have to get a job and save money, but how can I get to a job without a car? She's so fuckin' stupid."_

_And then I picked up the plastic tray my free school-issued breakfast was on and smacked him hard in the face with it. The irony of it all is that his mom wanted to press charges on me, but instead I had to attend mandated anger management and got transferred to an alternative school for mental and special needs kids, as if I needed another thing to hate about my life. _

_Several years after the incident, around the time I turned twenty-three, I ended up running into one of my friends from those high school glory days when he came into the deli for lunch. He immediately recognized me and gave me a knowing nod before rattling off his order like we didn't have a threesome together with that cute girl who worked at the ice cream parlor all those years ago. After making his sandwich, I decided to ask him how our social group faired after I left, to which he replied, "Oh, pretty great, actually. Turns out, we all only tolerated you because you were our drug connection. Once you left, we all agreed you were kind of a dick and none of us actually liked you." Before I could even utter a dejected 'oh', he took his sandwich from my hands and left._

* * *

Roxas was silent, looking at me with furrowed brows and a flat expression.

"Moral of the story is that I know I'm unlikable. Just give me a chance to prove there's more to me than vulgar language, violence, and jokes at someone else's expense. I'm not a bad guy, honestly."

"Let me guess, you're just _misunderstood_."

"I mean, yeah, kinda."

"Why are you telling me all this? Why do you want me to like you?"

I shrugged. "I want everyone to like me."

His features softened. "You're really drunk, aren't you?"

"More like tipsy. I'm a high-functioning drunk, though. I just get too honest. Don't think too much into it."

"Well, come on. Let's go home. It's a long drive and I'd like to go to sleep at a reasonable hour and you should too. You have more community service in the morning."

I waved my hand dismissively. "You're like a little old man, Roxas. But cuter and without the smell of mothballs."

"I'm not cute."

"You're probably right," I lied, "Everyone looks cute after a few drinks." Truthfully, he was very cute even in sobriety. Like a miniature schnauzer or a member of a boy band. His bad attitude just offset it a bit.

I stood up from the bed and stretched, giving Roxas a front-row view to my very prominent hip bones. "You're really thin," he blandly noted.

"Am I? Huh, never noticed," I said, looking down at my lanky body.

He smirked. "Now I know your sarcasm is a defense mechanism so I'm no longer bothered by it."

"If you say so."

The ride home had the potential to be interesting, but I dozed off after about ten minutes into our drive. As the streetlight blurred together, I wondered if Roxas and I had somehow eradicated the hostility between us, but I figured probably not. We were very separate breeds of people from two vastly different backgrounds that were forced to mesh because of a series of happenings out of our control. Roxas had a reason to be angry and I so did I, but he projected his anger at me and I projected my anger at the source: my mother.

When we walked through the front door, my garbage bag of belongings in tow, she greeted us in the foyer like she had been waiting for us, which I wouldn't put past her. She was all smiles and questions, and she didn't seem outwardly bothered by the fact it was midnight. Her smile never waning, she asked Roxas why he didn't answer any of her phone calls, and I expected him to tell her of all my sins, but instead he said he left his phone in the car while we were out eating dinner and catching a movie.

I tried my best to not looked surprised, and when she asked me if I had fun, I was afraid to open my mouth for fear of stumbling over my own words or having her smell the alcohol on my breath. Roxas came through with another save, telling her, "We had a decent time. Axel's a nice guy. Maybe you can spend time with him next." And with that, he disappeared up the stairs.

"Axel," she said, reaching forward and tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. The gesture was so familiar to me. "I'm glad you're so effortlessly meshing with the rest of the family. I'll let you get settled into bed. Good night."

"Good night, mom," I responded, the words slipping out of my mouth before I could catch them.


	7. chapter six

**A/N: **Being an adult is lame.

* * *

chapter six;  
**psychology 101**

* * *

When the weekend rolled around it brought along lots of cold rain and thunderstorms. After sleeping in for what felt like the first time in a long time, I padded down the stairs at around one in the afternoon with my floral comforter wrapped around me like a cloak. I made my way to the living room, which had been spruced up and re-painted during one of my mornings at community service, and collapsed on the large sectional sofa with a sigh of contentment. The pristine new flat-screen beckoned and I grabbed the remote and put on some cartoons while kicking back with my feet on the ottoman. I fucking love Saturdays.

"Mr. Axel, I'm sorry but I've got to run the vacuum cleaner in here," the cleaning lady announced before the first commercial break, making her presence known as she dragged the Hoover in from the other room. She was a nice Eastern European lady who came by every day to putz around since the Henley's had too much money to do it themselves, but at that particular moment she was the devil for taking away my comfy.

"Hold on, Ivana, I'm going," I groaned, fighting gravity as I stood up. "Don't you get days off?"

She thought for a moment and shook her head. "No, but I work to take care of my family so I don't mind."

Usually, she makes my bed, but I decided to go up and do it myself because guilt is a cruel mistress.

The house was unusually quiet and upon further inspection it seemed that nobody was home. And it was weird to have the house to myself because I wasn't quite sure what to do without a sense of direction. I should've been enjoying it, but it felt lonely. Ivana was humming to herself as she cleaned and I didn't want to bother her with questions, and there was no phone so I couldn't call anyone. I paced through the house, which was all put back together thanks to an insurance claim, and wondered where everyone was. Kairi and Roxas were probably with friends or whatever extroverted rich kids did in all their spare time, and Mr. Henley ran a private practice. Anastasia, on the other hand, didn't do much of anything these days. Her book was still popular and making money, so she didn't have to do anything. She occupied her time with baking and sewing and other stupid 'mom' things while people wept at excerpts of her drug-addled early life.

As I was aimlessly wandering, I wondered what my endgame was. When my community service was up, what would I do? Where would I go? Back to Cesterfield to live with Ansem? Back to the same old shit as if nothing happened? This house, with its beautiful furniture and decorations straight out of a Bloomingdale's catalog, it would never be my home. And the Henley's would never be my family. I inspected their family photographs, none of them candid and instead against blue backdrops with fake smiles, and I wondered what I'd look like standing next to them.

_Out of place._

If I could sum up my existence in just a few words, those would be them. What the fuck was I doing here?

I heard the front door open and close and I turned to see a very wet Roxas dropping a duffle bag to the floor as he shook the moisture from his hair. He shrugged out of his nylon jacket and hung it on the coat rack, grumbling to himself about the feeling of wet socks.

"Hey," I called out to him, meeting him in the foyer. We were on better terms, but he was still a moody little shit.

"Hey," he said in the midst of pulling his drenched t-shirt off.

I motioned towards his duffle bag. "You play sports?"

"Yeah, lacrosse." He kicked off his muddy cleats next. "We got rained out during practice, hence why I'm home so soon. Generally practice goes a little longer." He picked up his bag, shirt, and shoes and began shuffling up the stairs.

"I didn't do anything today. Actually, I woke up not too long ago. I wasn't really sure what to do," I admitted as I followed behind him. "I'm kind of hungry."

"Answers to questions I didn't ask. Just go eat something, lord knows some nourishment would do you good," he said blandly, clearly uninterested in maintaining a conversation with me.

I stopped mid-step, thinking back to my conclusion that I'd never be a part of their family. "Sorry to bug you," I grumbled, descending back down the stairs.

Roxas sighed and glanced at me from over his shoulder. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I just had a rough practice. Let me take a rinse and get changed and I'll meet you in the kitchen for lunch. Okay?"

About twenty minutes later, we sat at the breakfast table eating sandwiches that Ivana had prepared for us at Roxas's request. And even though we maintained a small conversation, I could tell his mind was somewhere else and I wasn't quite sure yet where our boundaries lied so I didn't know if it'd be acceptable to pry. He picked up his triangle of chicken salad sandwich and nibbled the corner absently.

"So," I said, "What do you usually do on the weekends?"

"This," he deadpanned.

"Pout?"

He dropped his sandwich back onto the plate and put his head in his hands. "No," he said, his voice muffled. "Play a sport I despise with people I despise."

"Then don't play anymore?" I offered. It was hard to imagine how distressing lacrosse could be when you're an in-shape rich kid.

He lifted his head back up at me and gave me a look that let me know that my solution was not an option, going as far as curling his lips into a scowl at my impudence to even suggest it. His attitude overrode his anguish, though, and he finished his sandwich without another word. It wasn't until I grabbed his empty plate and mine to take to the sink that he spoke again after giving me a bewildered look. "You know you don't have to do that, right? You can just leave it and Ivana will take care of it. It's what she does," he said, reminding me yet again what an over-privileged little snot he his.

"I have no problem with rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher myself. But then again, I'm just a poor boy who's used to this kind of hard labor."

I wasn't looking at him, but I could practically feel his eyes rolling.

"So what's next on the agenda, your highness? Gonna brood some more?"

I turned to him half-expecting a sassy retort, but he just shrugged his shoulders. "Probably. But I'll only have a couple hours to brood. After that, I have homework and studying." He kept a straight face and I couldn't tell if he was joking her not. We held each other's gaze for a little too long, and his poker face dissolved into a small smile. "I'm kidding, I'm probably going to play video games. But I was serious about the couple of hours thing. I really do have schoolwork."

"You play video games?" I asked, genuinely taken aback. "But that constitutes as actual leisure and fun."

"I play them on the weekends in my free time, yes. I _am _a teenaged boy in the 21st century. I had an Xbox, but it was stolen..." He narrowed his eyes at me. "But it's alright, I got a replacement. Do you like first-person shooters?"

"I mean, yeah. But do you? They're not very," air quotes, "mentally simulating", end air quotes. "Wouldn't you prefer to do long division or read the almanac or something?"

"Do you want to play with me or are you going to be a jerk some more?"

I smirked. "Oh, I'll play. Just don't be too upset when I win."

First-person shooters are my jam. Riku and I played them all the time. There's not much thought, just quick reaction times and graphic expletives about the other player's mom. But since Roxas's mom is my birth mom, I didn't exactly feel comfortable saying I dragged my testicles across her face as per FPS ritualistic convention. Not that I would've had an opportunity to do so, as I was too busy having my shit stomped in. We were in Roxas's room, split-screening a one-on-one death match that I was losing quite terribly, and I was getting red in the face from frustration as Roxas calmly headshot my character for the umpteenth time.

"This is fuckin' ridiculous!" I slammed the controller down on the bed while the death screen taunted me. "How are you so good?"

"It's a really simple game. You're just being too predictable."

"_I'm_ predictable?" I scoffed.

"Relax, Axel." He set his controller down and playfully nudged my arm. "It's just a game. We'll play more often and you'll get better. I'll help you."

I recoiled my arm and shot him a nasty look. "I don't need your help, dork."

"I can't tell if you're actually upset or not."

"Of course I'm not," I said in a tone that clearly revealed that I was. I knew I was being childish, but it wasn't fair for him to be better than me at something that I should've been better at.

"Well, as much as I'd love to humor your childish antics, I should get to work."

My previous indignation dissipated and was replaced with impending loneliness. "Oh… Should I go?"

"You don't have to, but I can't entertain you. So you'll just be sitting here staring at the wall."

"Can I keep playing the game?" I asked, giving him the best kicked puppy face I could muster.

He cracked a slight smile, showing mean inkling of those childish dimples that are like water in the desert. "Yeah, sure. Just keep the noise to the minimum."

I have him a salute. "No problem, your highness."

And so it became a routine. I'd come home and we'd play a few rounds together and then I'd play by myself while Roxas did other things, and it made my time a lot less lonesome, and I'm sure Roxas felt the same way. Sometimes, Kairi would come in and spectate, but Roxas like to shoo her away to keep up the sitcom older brother/ younger sister dynamic. Anastasia was pleased as punch that we were bonding, and would express it on her way to drop me off and pick me up from community service.

"I was worried," she said one morning. "Roxas isn't always the easiest to get along with."

"He's alright," I responded, staring at my cuticles as if they'd ease the tension. "Nice kid, just a little uptight."

"He's always been a stubborn little boy, I think he gets that from me. And I think you got it, too."

"The only thing I got from you is some genes and a complex."

The rest of the ride and the rides proceeding were mostly silent.

A couple weeks later, after getting home and showering away the sweat of manual labor, I made my way to Roxas's room for our game, only to find him dejectedly staring out his bay window deep in thought. I figured he'd been there for a while, since he still had his tie and loafers on. "Hey, ground control to Major Tom," I said, and he visibly startled.

"Oh, hey Axel," he greeted half-heartedly. "I'm not really up for playing, but feel free to play by yourself."

"You alright, man? You seem a little bummed."

He shrugged.

"It might make you feel better to tell someone instead of letting it ferment into teen angst. Trust me," I said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "Is this about the rancid fart I ripped yesterday? I told you I was sorry!"

My attempt at lighthearted humor was lost on him. "Axel," he said, "You've been with lots of girls, right?"

"I mean, yeah, I guess?" I answered unsurely, not wanting to seem cocky. "Nothing too serious though. Why?"

"I don't know… I just… Girls are confusing."

"Ah, so you're having girlfriend troubles."

"She told me she had sex with someone else while she was intoxicated about a month ago, but swears it was a momentary weakness and that it'll never happen again. But infidelity is infidelity."

"Shit, man. I'm sorry." I couldn't imagine why a girl would be unfaithful to Roxas, a guy who was the whole package in regards to looks, wealth, and extracurriculars, but Roxas was right, women are confusing. Hell, people in general are confusing.

"But that's not even the issue," he sighed. "The issue is I'm not as bothered by it as I probably should be. I'm apathetic towards it, towards her."

"It sounds like the relationship is over, then."

"No, it's not. It can't be. My parents love her, her parents love me. We're perfect for each other, everyone says so. And she's a nice girl, very pretty and intelligent, and she comes from a good family. She's just a bit of a wild card and we have conflicting interests, but I think we harmonize each other. Does that make sense?"

"Honestly, Rox, I think you're both hanging on to this for the wrong reasons. Like I've said before, you're young. Act like it."

"But your definition of acting young is to have sex with every girl with a pulse. I was raised to appreciate monogamy and to be wary of unwanted pregnancies. I mean, look at you." After the words left his mouth, his eyes widened in realization of what he just said.

"Excuse me?"

"W-what I mean is… I just… I don't…" For the first time since I met him, Roxas stumbled over his words and was drained of all articulacy.

I crossed my legs and perched my folded hands on my knee. "Go on," I scoffed, curling my lip up in derision.

"I just don't want to end up in a situation where suddenly I'm unknowingly a father because I slept with a girl with questionable morals. No kid deserves to have an awful life because of their parents' bad decisions."

I wanted to be mad, but he was right.

* * *

_When I was young, before being passed through the system, my mother would take me with her whenever she was going to sell herself. I distinctly remember holding her hand as she led me through roach-infested motel lobbies and would sit me in a chair near the front desk and tell me, "Now you sit here and don't move, okay? Mommy will be back soon." And after an hour or so, she'd return with a fresh coat of sweat and shame. Usually the person working the desk would pretend I didn't exist, like the small kid sitting alone while his mom was off getting fucked was in no way unusual, and given the quality of these motels, it probably wasn't. But one time there was a receptionist who took an unusual interest in me. He was an older man with a greasy comb-over and a worn tweed jacket and a little while after my mother disappeared he came over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder._

"_Well, hey there, kiddo!" He said, rubbing my shoulder a little rougher than he probably realized. "How's it going?"_

"_Okay," I said, giving him a polite smile._

"_Just okay?"_

"_Uh-huh, I'm waiting for momma. She said we're going to get ice cream."_

"_And you really like ice cream, I take it?"_

_I nodded._

"_Well, what if I told you that I have ice cream in the back there?" He pointed to a door behind the front desk that I can only assume housed a staff bathroom or maybe storage. "Would you like some?"_

_I thought for a moment and then shook my head. "No thanks, momma tells me not to take things from strangers."_

"_But I'm not a stranger," he challenged. "You come here with your mom sometimes and she told me to keep an eye on you to make sure you're not getting into any trouble."_

"_Really?"_

"_Mhmm." _

"_Do you talk to momma a lot? Are you one of her special friends?"_

_He smiled at my childhood innocence. "We're friends, yes, but we're not special friends. I was thinking maybe you and me can be special friends."_

"_And special friends give you ice cream?"_

"_Yes! Exactly! You get it!" He ruffled my shaggy hair. "So what do ya say, kiddo?"_

"_Hmmm, okay!" I hopped off the chair and let him steer me towards the door behind the front desk. He was sweating profusely and anxiously licked his lips more times than I could count at that age. He fumbled around with a master key ring, trying to find the key to his pedophilic paradise, but his nervous excitement caused him to keep losing his place, and he had to start over as he checked each key's engraved number. And as soon as he found the one he was looking for, we both heard the bell over the front entrance that went off each time it was opened. _

"_Axel?" My mother called out when she didn't immediately see me in the chair she left me in._

"_Over here with my new special friend, momma!" I called back, causing the receptionist to enter panic mode and start blathering to her about how leaving kids unattended was against the rules. _

_She quickly came up and grabbed me by the wrist and tore me away from him. "You're disgusting," she growled. "He's just a baby."_

"_He's really nice," I tried to tell her, not understanding why she was so upset, but she ignored me._

"_I should report you!" She yelled as we walked out of the door. "You deserve to be castrated!" _

_And I have to wonder, if my mother hadn't finished early, if her customer hadn't ejaculated so soon, just where would I be today? The fate of my younger self's psyche and dignity rested in her customer's penis, and if that isn't fucking wild, then I don't know what is._

* * *

"Hey Anastasia," I said the next morning at breakfast in between a bite of French toast.

There was a collective clanking of forks being dropped on plates as everyone stopped eating and looked at me, anticipating what I had to say to the woman who birthed me and pretended I didn't exist for twenty years. "Yes, Axel?" She said, trying not to look taken aback as she took a sip of her coffee.

"Do you remember the time I was almost molested at that motel when I was like four years old?"

Dead silence. I gathered that it was probably taboo to reminisce about the days when she wasn't the successful suburban matriarch she is today. She cleared her throat into her cloth napkin and looked at me with what I could only assume was shame.

"Axel," Mr. Henley spoke up when no one else did, "If you ever need to talk about it, I'll lend an ear."

My attempts of being a smart-ass backfired.

A bit later, as I was sitting at the bottom of the stairs putting on my sneakers, Kairi came over and sat next to me, straightening her pleated skirt so it wouldn't wrinkle. "Hey, Axel? Do you hate mom?"

There was a guilty pang in my chest unlike anything I'd ever felt before. "No…" I murmured.

"I mean, we all know what she was like before." She looked down at her patent leather Mary Janes. "Everyone in the country knows."

I opened my mouth to speak but she cut me off.

"But everyone has things they're not proud of, right? She just doesn't hide it, she wears it on the outside because she overcame it. I just wish she told us about you sooner. You're so tall and cool." Kairi gave me a big smile, not looking unlike her brother. "I'm glad you're here. I think we all are. You were meant to be here with us."

It's so emasculating to be brought to near tears by a fourteen year old girl, yet there I was trying to blink back the liquid pooling in my tear ducts. "I'm pretty glad I'm here too, Kai," I said, patting her on the head. She graciously shoved my hand away, telling me not to mess up her hair. I slung my arm around her shoulders instead.

"Since you're such a cool older brother," she said, "I'll give you some ammunition towards Roxas."

"Oh?"

"He plays the clarinet. But he'll do it in the garage when no one's around because he's embarrassed. He's pretty bad at it."

"Ouch, remind me not to let you in on my insecurities," I joked. She laughed and stood up just as Roxas rounded the corner and raised his eyebrow at our exchange. "Have a good day at school, kids! Be good! Don't get pregnant!" I bid them as they flounced out the door with schoolbags in tow.

Anastasia stepped past me on the stairs and shot me a warm smile. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah."

We walked to the garage and got into her red BMW. As soon as we were settled in, she turned to me and said, "I want to help you, but I don't know how."

"I thought housing me and pretending like everything is normal was your way of helping?"

"You know what I mean. I want us to get along. I want you to look at me and not see who I was, but who I am today. I want you to be happy, Axel. You of all people deserve it."

"So you do remember that day at the motel?"

"Of course I do! That's when I truly realized how toxic it was for you to be with me. I didn't know how to be a mom and I held a lot of resentment, but I knew I wanted you to be safe and warm and not go to bed hungry because I couldn't afford food _and _drugs and often picked the latter. You deserved better, Axel. And I did the right thing by giving you up."

"That's a fucked up thing to do to your kid. And it's even more fucked up to maintain that it was the right thing to do. Look at me, Ana, does it look like the system treated me well?"

"What I did to you still haunts me to this day. But I knew if you stayed with me, we both probably would've wound up dead. I will always stand by the belief that giving you up was the best decision I ever made. And, honestly Axel, I think you turned out a lot better than you would have with me. Look at you, you're handsome and intelligent, even if you try to hide it, and you have a good heart. I can see it in your eyes."

"My father's eyes," I corrected. At the mention of the mystery man who blessed her with the miracle of life, she tightly gripped the steering wheel and a vein in her neck throbbed. I watched her curiously as she kept her eyes on the road with a faraway expression. But then it faded as quick as it came and she glanced at me placidly.

"You're wrong," she said, "You don't have his eyes."

My brows furrowed. "No?"

"Yours are beautiful and kind, and they're uniquely you. I've made the mistake of seeing his eyes in yours, but I'll never make that mistake again."

I wanted to ask about what she meant, but instead I kept my trap shut and reveled in the warmth of the moment until we pulled into the park parking lot.

"Axel," she said as I was getting out, "Forgive me for being forward, but I want you to do something for me."

"Yes?" I replied, suspicion evident in my body language. "Please don't tell me you're dying and you need a kidney or something."

"No, no, God forbid," she clamored, putting her hand to her chest as if the thought gave her agita. "No, what I want you to do is talk to James. As you know, he's a psychiatrist, and I really think he can help you. He really helped me in my time of need."

"Gross, Ana. I'm not going to bang your husband."

Not yet used to my crassness, she looked absolutely mortified. She opened her mouth to stammer out some sort of defense, but I laughed it off and told her I'd talk to Mr. Henley for her sake, even though I didn't believe in whatever psychological mumbo-jumbo they taught him in his ten years at med-school.

She unwound and gave a tight-lipped smile that exemplified her strong cheekbones. "Thank you. Have a nice day, alright?"

"Yeah, you too," I said, and I was about to close the car door when she murmured something I couldn't quite hear. "What was that?" I leaned in and asked her, and she looked at me with evident guilt.

"I said I love you, Axel."

"I love you, too, mom," I said, unsure if I meant it or not.

* * *

Since my younger formative years, there's always been a group of people I hated with unnecessary intensity. With their hidden condescension, wide-eyed pity, and fake empathetic smiles as they scribble things on their legal pad like, "highly attention seeking but otherwise withdrawn", "prone to violent outbursts", and "insecure". When you're a kid of the system, you're going to know your counselors and caseworkers better than your caregivers, and they never fail to remind you just how broken and abnormal you are. There's a myriad of psychological disorders that are par for the course when you're in the system; depression, abandoned child syndrome, oppositional defiance, social anxiety, sociopathic tendencies, the list goes on and on, and your counselors, despite being nothing more than barely-qualified social workers who maybe took AP Psych in high school, are tasked with preventing you from becoming a mass murder or a suicide statistic.

But at the end of the day, they don't care about your or your feelings or your happiness, they care about their paycheck. And the same goes for therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists. They'll sit and listen to your problems, but only to diagnose, counsel, and/or treat you as quick as they can to get you out of the door. And as you got older, you start to wonder how much they say holds any validity. When I was in high school, they told me I was depressed, but I certainly didn't feel depressed until they tried to treat me for it. I became attention-seeking because they told me I already was. My violent outbursts didn't start until they told me I was prone to them.

"Maybe you just became acutely aware of these issues when they were brought to your attention," Mr. Henley said to me as I rambled on about my suspicions of his field. We were sitting in his office, which was a cozy room on the first floor of the house that I never bothered to peek into because I assumed it was another coat closet or bathroom. There was a big mahogany desk and a leather sofa and bookshelves that didn't hold a speck of dust. On the walls were his various credentials; degrees, licenses, awards. The room itself was small and dim and cold, but it felt safe.

"Or they fed me bullshit," I said, staring up at the stucco ceiling to avoid eye contact. "Like, I'm sure you make a killing with your practice, but how many unnecessary pills and treatments have you prescribed? How many people have you misdiagnosed? Your doctorate gives you a free pass to fuck with people's brain chemistry however you see fit."

"When you take the Hippocratic Oath upon becoming a physician, you're making a promise to not harm anyone, and most of us take that very seriously, Axel. It has always been my duty to help people. That's why I got into this field. Psychiatry and psychology are often mocked because mental illness is usually invisible and easily disregarded. I want to break the stigma and heal people. Any harm I've unintentionally caused is quickly rectified. I wouldn't be a practicing psychiatrist for twenty years if I didn't."

"Does the Hippocratic Oath cover sexual relations with patients?"

I expected my comment would upset him, but he just chuckled. "You're talking about An—" He cleared his throat. "Your mother." I wanted to know his thoughts on the situation, how he felt about learning she had a son and never mentioned it in any point during the years. Was he resentful? I wanted to ask him, but he wasn't the one on psych trial. "She wasn't my patient when we started dating. But I suppose many would find it unethical to form a relationship with even a past patient. But, enough about me and my career, I want to hear more about you."

"Why? Because Ana told you to listen to my sob story and fix all the damage she's done?"

From his chair on the other side of the desk, he leaned back and folded his hands, his interest piqued. I realized I fell into his trap. "If you want to tell me, I will listen. I've become very proficient at being unbiased. And everything you say to me will be confidential."

"Wouldn't you rather be at your fancy doctor office talking to patients you can make money off of?"

"Like I said, Axel, I went into this field with prospects that didn't involve money. You are someone who seems like they have a lot to say, and I will sit and listen until you don't want to talk anymore. You're a member of this family now, you're a priority."

"Do you do this to Roxas and Kairi, too?"

"Only if they want it," he said simply.

"And what if I don't want it?"

"Then you can get up and walk away, no one is forcing you to talk to me. I won't be upset, your mother won't be upset. This is entirely up to you."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, really. But no thanks. I've talked to enough shrinks over the years and it hasn't done me a bit of good."

"Alright, Axel. Just remember you can talk to me, alright?"

I stood from the leather sofa and was about to leave, but I turned around and saw Mr. Henley looking at me like a real person, not like charity case or someone to be pitied, but a complex human being. His blond hair was faded and lacking sheen, and his blue eyes, framed by crow's feet, exuded aged wisdom, but he shared so many similarities with Roxas. Once upon a time ago, he had probably been boyish and baby-faced, too. I wondered what Roxas's birth mother looked like, what features he inherited from her gene pool.

Mr. Henley had lost a wife, a fact I often forgot. Does he love Anastasia more than he had loved her? Does he ever look at Roxas and remember the love he once shared in order to create him? Does he still miss her?

Who psychoanalyzes the psychoanalyst?

"Something on your mind?"

"You've known about me, haven't you?" I asked him.

He didn't say anything, but his hesitant expression spoke the truth.

I walked out the door before any more words could be exchanged, making my way up to Roxas's room. It was late afternoon, and usually Roxas was home by then, but his bedroom was empty. I wasn't usually one for snooping without cause, but my thoughts were racing and I needed a distraction, so I began to poke around his belongings. Everything was neatly organized in drawers and on shelves and none of it was incriminating. Typical Roxas. I took to his closet, pushing around boxes of useless shit like old textbooks and shoes. I was hoping to find something interesting, like a pickled fetus or an inflatable sex doll or something, but Roxas was as boring as he seemed.

After failing to find a suitable distraction, I flopped onto his bed with an audible sigh.

Mr. Henley knew about me. He's probably known since the beginning. Why didn't he intervene? With all of his knowledge of brains and psychological consequence, why didn't he warn her of the damage her abandonment was inflicting? When they were living comfortably and starting their family, did no one remember there was a boy out there without one? I was just a little kid who was thrown to the wolves, and they both turned their backs on the carnage. But now that the wounds have scabbed over and scarred, they'll pretend like they've cared all along. Because that's how you fix selfish guilt without the effort of fixing the cause.

I must've dozed off, because the next time my eyes opened, the room was no longer illuminated by the sun and there was a warm quilt on top of me. I blinked to adjust my eyes and sat up, my back creaking with the symphony of a lifetime of bad posture. Basking in the faint glow of a computer screen, Roxas was hunched over at his desk, chewing his bottom lip raw, his eyes unblinking as his fingers moved across the keyboard with an obnoxious persistent click, clack, click. I watched him for a moment, wondering if he'd notice I was awake, but after a whole minute without even a glance in my direction, I let out a loud groan and startled him.

"Oh my god!" He exclaimed, clutching his chest. He calmed and swiveled his chair so he was facing me. "You're awake."

"Uh, yeah." I pushed the quilt off of me and flung my legs over the edge of the bed. "I didn't mean to fall asleep in your bed, dude. I'm really fuckin' sorry. You coulda kicked me awake or something."

"It's fine. You looked like you needed the sleep." I flushed at the gesture, mostly because I figured Roxas was incapable of consideration. "You missed dinner though," He added before turning back to his computer and resuming what he was doing, clearly not thinking as much into it as I was.

"You alright? You look more dead-eyed than usual."

"I'm just typing out a study guide for myself." He picked up a worn spiral notebook by his laptop and presented it to me. "I'm using my notes and the source material to create a fail-proof study system. Finals are coming up and I need to be prepared."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you really need to do all that? You seem like a smart kid. I'm sure finals will be a cakewalk for you."

"Hardly. I need to ace every final if I want to maintain my 5.0 GPA. Colleges are going to be looking at me under a microscope. I've already been accepted into a few decent schools, but I need to get into an Ivy League. Do you know what that takes?" He ranted. "I've already been rejected by several, so I need to give it my all. I _need _this."

"Whoa, relax, breathe. Why do you _need _to go to a prissy Ivy League? You going to university at all is pretty impressive. Before you know it, you're going to be a soulless little man in a suit on Wall Street wishing you spent your high school years having fun."

He dig the heels of his hands into his sockets and dragged them down his face with a sounds I could only equate to a dying animal. "You don't understand. I have to be perfect."

"As cliché and gross at it feels to say it, Roxas; nobody's perfect."

"But I have to be. Model student, model son. I have to play sports and instruments and smile and keep my loafers scuff-free. I have to balance school with relationships and extra-curricular activities while making sure I remember to swallow the pills that keep me sane." As soon as he let those last words fall out, the look on his face was a giveaway that he not mean to share that tidbit of information."

"Pills?" I asked him.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, going back to his notes and study guide.

"Does your dad prescribe you pills?"

"Drop it, okay?" He spat. "It's legitimate. I need them."

"What do you take?"

"Why do you care?" He growled through gritted teeth. "What were you even doing in my room earlier? You have your own bed to sleep in."

"Well, I came to see if you were home so we can play video games but then I laid on your bed and I fell asleep. Your bed is hella comfy. I'm jealous."

"Of all the things to be jealous about…" He trailed off, his demeanor softening. "It's memory foam. It helps with my back."

"Oh man, your bed is going to remember my ass forever."

Roxas cracked a smile and got up from his computer chair. He stretched and plopped down on the bed next to me. "I'm sure you can talk to mom about getting a memory foam mattress for you bed. And probably a TV and a game console, too."

"Then I'll have absolutely no reason to come into your room. You'll miss me."

He turned his face to me and gave me a boyish half-grin. I held his gaze, looking into his tired eyes that looked particularly murky in the dim light. He had a crooked tooth that I hadn't noticed before which looked out of place among his mouthful of perfect other teeth. I wanted to ask him about it, but before I could, I noticed his face inching closer to mine. I briefly thought it was all in my head, but that thought was cut short by a pair of lips aggressively moving against mine in what I could only describe as desperation. I instinctively shoved him away, my body numb with shock.

He looked just as bewildered as I did.

"What—" I started to say, but he cut me off.

"I… I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry. I'm stressed out and exhausted."

My mouth, still insensate, was hung agape as I tried to process what happened. "Roxas…"

"Just go," he spat, like I did something wrong. "Get out of my room."

"Roxas, we should talk about this," I said softy, like I was trying to coax a kitten from under a bed. "You're gay, aren't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Axel. I have a girlfriend. I like girls.

"But you—"

"Go!"

I shuffled off the bed, my legs not working in tandem with my brain, which was a flurry of thoughts and emotions. I wanted to push the issue, but I didn't want Roxas to lose his head over it. I wanted to convey to him that it wasn't a big deal, that I wasn't going to hold anything against him because I was horny confused teenaged boy at one point in time, too. But I'm not so good with words and Roxas needed space to resolve his own issues, so I walked out the door and closed it behind me.


	8. chapter seven

**A/N:** Happy holidays! This chapter has been mostly done for like three months, but I got lazy.

* * *

chapter seven;  
**boys don't like girls, boys like awkward family dinners**

* * *

_The first and only time I fell in love was when I was nine. At that time I lived in a group home out in the sticks headed by an old Jewish woman who was way out of her element and had way too many ceramic tchotchkes. You don't get many Jewish people in the upstate, but Mama Golda made her place in one of those double-wide modular trailer homes that had been adapted to house up to ten li'l kinders. She was large and overbearing and particular, but she made latkes for Chanukah and taught us Yiddish slang. She was one of the nicer guardians I've had during my stint in the system. Mama Golda was stern, but not physical. If you didn't make your bed or wash behind your ears well enough or if you ever back talked, she wouldn't hit you, instead she'd take your blankets and clothes and deny you dinner until you earned back your effects one-by-one by tending to her herb garden or massaging her feet or something equally degrading to a kid. _

_Of the ten kids the state stuck in her care, only one of them dared to be a repeat offender. Her name was Larxene. _

_She was older than everyone at fifteen and towered above us with a sneer that could make a grown man's knees quake. Larxene hated everyone and everything, and it was her life's mission to make everyone as miserable as she was. She'd fight and steal and run away for days at a time, but no matter how many meals she missed or how many nights she slept on a bare mattress in nothing but her ratty granny panties and a tank-top, nothing could tame the storm. All the other kids feared her, she was the monster that no one could protect them from. But I was enamored. She was blonde and thin and covered in scars that I'm sure spelled out the stories of her misery. What got me, though, were her eyes and her chutzpah._

_At nine, I didn't understand the concept of romantic love, but I knew I wanted to make Larxene smile, no matter what it took. I'd follow her around like a lost dog, lapping at her heels hoping she'd take me home with her. She'd scream and yell, throw punches and pull my hair, call me names. But I was unfazed. One day, exasperated, she asked why I wouldn't leave her alone._

"_I want you to be my girlfriend," I said. _

_As if those were the magic words, she cracked a small smile. "Oh yeah? What you know about gettin' girls, huh? Yer jus' a little kid." _

"_I think you're pretty." _

_Her smile waned and she was back to the same old emotionally volatile Larxene. "Yer jus' bein' a little shit. I'll beat the piss outta ya."_

_I threw my hands up defensively. "No, really! You're the prettiest girl I know!"_

_She punched me. But somehow, it felt different. Less rough. We were turning a corner. _

_A few weeks later she ran away again, but this time, she never came back._

* * *

When I groggily dragged myself to the refrigerator with the intention of up-ending the rest of the milk at ten in the morning, I didn't expect to get a glimpse of Roxas stretching his quads out by the pool from the window above the sink. I paused, holding the jug at an angle towards my mouth, admiring the muscles in his legs and back as he went into an adductor stretch. As much as he aggravated me, as much as it physically pained me to think about him living the life I was supposed to live, I couldn't deny that he was attractive. In a J. Crew, trust fund, summers in Bermuda kind of way, of course. A rich pretty boy.

It'd been a couple weeks since the kissing incident in his bedroom, and we still weren't on speaking terms. He was putting more effort into avoiding me than the effort it would've taken to talk about it and clear the air. He had been spending a lot of time out of the house or holed up in his bedroom, which his parents attributed to stress about finals and left him alone. I had tried speaking to him on a few occasions, but each time he dismissed me with a bullshit excuse or just flat-out ignored me. It was frustrating and I was getting lonely. But the weirdest part of it all, the part that I couldn't explain, is that I kind of wanted to kiss him again. I guess sometimes our desire to be liked outguns our reason.

Outside, he straightened up, held his arms in the air, and then bent over to touch his toes.

"What're you looking at?"

I nearly spilled milk all over the floor when Kairi came up behind me. I clumsily tried to twist the cap back on while simultaneously trying to block the view of the window so that she wouldn't figure out I was staring at her brother's ass in his square-cut swim shorts that clung to him like a second skin. "I was just thinking about laying out in the sun. I want to be tan and gorgeous like you," I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Puh-lease," she said, a smile splayed on her lips from the compliment, "Skin like yours will roast in the sun. You'll come in looking like a lobster, especially with your bright red hair. We won't be able to tell where you start and where you end."

"Well there goes my summer plans," I jokingly grumbled.

She went into the fridge to grab a bottle of water and finally noticed her brother. "Oh, Roxas is home. I haven't seen him in a while."

"Where has he been spending all his time?" I asked her, trying not to sound needy. "Does he get like this often?"

Kairi waved her hand dismissively. "Totally. And I imagine he's been spending a lot of time with either Sora or Xion." I gave her a look like 'I don't fucking know who these people are' and she elaborated. "Sora is his best friend from school and Xion is his girlfriend. They used to come around all the time, but haven't really since…" She trailed off but I knew where she was going. Roxas kept his friend and girlfriend away because he didn't want them to meet me. Me, the physical manifestation of his mother's sins. I was an embarrassment.

"Is Xion a nice girl?" I asked, remembering Roxas whining about his girl troubles not too long ago.

"She's really cool, actually. Too cool for Roxas. They really are an odd match."

"Why do you say that?"

"She's independent and free-spirited. She's not as into school and appearances as Roxas is. Honestly," she said, crossing her arms over her chest with the onset of a devious smile tugging at her lips, "She reminds me a lot of you. Maybe that's why Roxas likes you so much."

I forced out a dry laugh. "Considering Roxas isn't too fond of me, I don't think that's accurate."

"That's just how Roxas is though. He's a real softy beneath his harsh exterior. Like a…" She thought for a moment. "Like an armadillo."

"An armadillo?" I glanced at him out the window, oblivious to us talking about him like gossiping school girls. He dabbed sweat away with a small towel and dropped down for some push-ups. I wondered who he was trying so hard to impress. When you're smart and rich, you don't need washboard abs or a low body-fat percentage. And I doubted his girlfriend held him to high standards while screwing around with other guys.

"Oh, that's right!" Kairi suddenly exclaimed, snapping me from my reverie. "I totally forgot, Xion and her parents are coming over for dinner tonight. That's why Roxas is home."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Really? He arranged this?"

"Doubt it. Mom and dad probably insisted. They're good friends with Xion's parents."

"Oh, well I guess I'll disappear for the night," I deadpanned, not looking forward to more mind-numbing loneliness and boredom.

Kairi looked confused. "You don't want to have dinner with us?"

"I'm invited?"

"Well, duh, you live here. You're a part of this family. I'm sure Xion and her parents will adore you."

"I mean, no one has mentioned this dinner to me, so…"

"Do you have nice clothes to wear?" She asked, steering to subject away from reminders of my displacement. "If not, I'll get mom to take us to the mall in Marion."

I tried to say no, I really did, but no amount of insisting will tame the flames of a teenaged girl who wants to go shopping, and so I sat in the passenger seat of Anastasia's BMW with Kairi's jubilant head poking from above the center console as she fiddled with the dials on the stereo. In an effort to make small talk to fill up our thirty minute drive to the city, Anastasia asked me where I usually bought my clothes.

"I dunno, wherever," I said, because I didn't want to admit that my clothes were either shoplifted, "borrowed", hand-me-downs, or from a clearance section. I looked down and eyed a stain on my v-neck, wondering if it had always been there.

"Don't worry, Axel, I'll help you find something good," Kairi assured me. "Maybe a nice cashmere sweater and some twill chinos. Or some leather. I think you'd look good in some leather trousers."

"I don't want to look like a bondage slave."

"Bondage slave?" Kairi asked and Anastasia shot me a horrified look.

Sometimes it was hard for me to not be inappropriate.

When we got to the mall, Anastasia pulled me aside and handed me an envelope. I quirked an eyebrow at her discretion. "I've been meaning to give you this," she said, "I figure this is the perfect time." Kairi recognized we were having a moment and excused herself to go peer in boutique windows nearby. For being a sheltered kid, she was pretty perceptive.

"Do you want me to open it now?" I asked her. She nodded, and I opened the envelope to find a generic greeting card with a lakeside print on the front. For a moment, my nerves were in overdrive because I was worried that it was going to be some emotional bullshit and I didn't want to cry in the middle of the mall, but when I opened the card and saw the glossy piece of plastic, my feelings became indescribable. The only thing written in the card was: _You're a part of this family, Axel. The limit is $10,000._

"A credit card?"

"Everyone has one," she said simply. "I don't want you to be without. You can use this to buy anything you want. Within reason, of course."

I pulled it out of the card and inspected it. My name was printed on the front.

"Are you sure you trust me with something like this?"

"I trust you, Axel. Just be responsible with it, okay? Now go with Kairi to look for clothes and we'll meet back here when you guys are finished."

I nodded dumbly, feeling privileged for the first time in my life.

* * *

"They're here, hurry down for dinner!" Kairi exclaimed from the outside of my bedroom door. In the bathroom, I gave myself a once-over in the mirror, wondering why I was so fucking ugly. Too gaunt and narrow, with oily skin and too many tattoos. I decided to tie my hair back in a knot to look less like a washed out rock star. Less out of place.

Despite my hideous face, I was dressed to impress. Very fashionable, at least according to Kairi, who insisted on almost a grand worth of clothes from some trendy designer store I would've sneered at in the past.

I splashed some water on my face and smoothed an eyebrow hair that had gone rogue. I wondered how much Roxas's girlfriend and her parents knew of me. Was I going to be looked down upon? Put on the spot? I cupped some water in my hand, slurped it up, moved it between my cheeks a few times, and spit it into the sink. "Well, let's do this," I sighed to my reflection.

I descended the stairs and made my way into the living room where a well-dressed couple sat on the couch with their legs crossed at the ankles. Anastasia and Mr. Henley sat with them and chatted pleasantly about stocks and money or some shit. "Oh, Axel," Anastasia beckoned, gesturing for me to sit next to her on the sectional. "This is Axel," she said to our guests, her tone not unlike someone showing off their new puppy. "Axel, this is Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont."

"Pleasure," the woman said with a warm smile that looked vaguely familiar. She was younger and of some sort of Asian descent, whereas her stoic husband looked to be in his sixties. I figured she was a mail order bride. I shook their hands and awkwardly looked down at my shoes as they continued to chatter without a second thought. To my relief, they didn't pry about why all of a sudden Anastasia had a new son. Maybe they were briefed beforehand or something.

"Over here, Ax!" Kairi called from the kitchen. She poked her head out from the doorway and bent her finger at me. I was grateful for an escape and politely excused myself and made my way to where she was standing by the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. "You look nice," she said.

"You picked my clothes out so of course I do."

She giggled. "Anyway, I figured you'd want to meet Xion. Her parents are nice and all but they're boring grown-ups. No offense."

"I'm barely a grown-up," I assured her.

"C'mon!" Kairi grabbed my arm and led me outside. Underneath the gazebo in the back corner of the yard, Roxas and his small dark-haired girlfriend socialized in quiet voices. They heard us coming and turned towards us, Roxas looking annoyed and Xion's expression instantly going from welcoming to dread with no transition in between.

And I must've gone through a similar expression metamorphosis as I looked her in the face and connected the dots in my head. This girl was no stranger.

"H-hi," I stuttered out.

Roxas and Kairi were confused as they watched our meeting unfold, oblivious to the fact that not too long ago, she and I got very acquainted in Riku and Naminé's guest room.

"I'm Xion," she said quietly, her tone careful, "You must be Axel. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Yeah," I agreed, "I feel the same way."

I fucked Roxas's girlfriend.

* * *

Ivana, the housekeeper who I saw more of than anyone in the family, bustled around the dining room table, making sure everyone's drink glasses were full, before disappearing back into the kitchen to prepare our next course. Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont had brought a bottle of fancy wine as a gift and they were swirling their glasses and sipping it graciously while talking about their recent trip to Italy. Xion and I were seated across each other, and the tension between us was palpable. Occasionally, I'd glance towards her and catch her glancing at me, and we'd both sheepishly look down at our plates. I couldn't stop thinking about her body, her tits, the way she moaned. I was rocking a semi in my slacks throughout the entire first course.

Roxas wasn't a dumb kid, and was suspicious towards our interactions. If he was talking to me, he probably would've demanded what my problem towards his girlfriend was. But he was too busy avoiding confrontation about the kissing incident.

I took another bite of Caesar salad.

A boy whom I kissed and his girlfriend whom I fucked. It was like high school all over again.

"Axel, have you traveled?" Mr. Beaumont suddenly asked me.

"Nope," I said simply, shoving a huge piece of romaine lettuce into my mouth.

"Such a shame," he said, shaking his large balding head. "The world has so much to offer" He turned to Xion. "Sweet pea, what was your favorite country that we've visited?"

"Um, probably South Korea," she said in a small voice.

"Korea? Hmm." His lips flattened into a thin line. "Not enough culture there. I much prefer the European countries." He nudged his wife playfully. "You can take the girl out of Asia but you can't take the Asia out of the girl, am I right?"

His wife, who was probably Korean, forced a smile.

I adjusted my legs under the table and Roxas, who was seated across from me, let out a yelp. "Oops, did I kick you?"

"Yes, you did," he spat. It'd been a while since he directly addressed me in any way and I relished it.

"Sorry, man," I held my hands up in mock surrender. "I underestimated the length of your little legs. My bad."

"You're insufferable," he muttered, just out of earshot of the adults.

_At least I'm not a queer in the closet_, I callously thought to myself.

Xion looked like she had something to say but she kept it to herself. I wondered if I could sneak her into my pink bedroom later for some sweet hetero love.

The entire table fell into an uncomfortable silence until Mr. Beaumont continued on about the many countries he and his family have visited over the years. Ivana came and took our salad plates and brought us small bowls of a strange thick orange soup. I gave it a smell and grimaced.

"Lobster bisque," Kairi said matter-of-factly, as if she read my mind.

I pushed it away and held down cravings of McDonald's value menu burgers. "I'm allergic to shellfish," I told her, "If I eat this, I'll probably die."

Anastasia, ignoring Mr. Beaumont's tales about his grand adventures in Greece, perked up and raised an eyebrow at me. "Really?"

"Yup, learned that when I was eight after eating popcorn shrimp. I swelled like a balloon and had to be rushed to the hospital. It took them a few hours to get me back down to normal size. I still feel a little puffy to this day. Apparently I have, like, anaphrodisia or something."

Everyone at the table turned to me and stifled their laughter behind cloth napkins.

"What?"

"Anaphylaxis," Anastasia corrected.

"Yeah, that."

Ivana scurried out of the kitchen and took away my bowl of certain death. "Would you like something different, Mr. Axel?"

"No, no. I'm fine. I'll wait for the main course."

The rest of dinner was uneventful. Just awkward glances and questions that hung in the air for a couple seconds too long. Xion retained her terrified disposition, as if I was going to clank a spoon on the side of my glass and announce to the world that we had drunk sex at a party. She squirmed and avoided looking at me for too long, whereas Roxas would stare at me hard when no one was paying attention, as if his eyes could burn a hole where my face is. I would stare back, combatively, because I wasn't the bad guy. He kissed _me_. His girlfriend fucked _me._ My mother left _me. I _was the victim.

Anastasia and Mr. Henley continued to chatter with the Beaumont's after dinner on the patio as the men smoked expensive Cuban cigars. Kairi disappeared upstairs with Xion and Roxas and I tried to help Ivana clean up but I just ended up getting in the way. Ivana was sweet, though, and she told me about her family, specifically her older son, who she said I reminded her of. She smiled so brightly when she spoke of her son. I envied him for it.

When I finally wandered upstairs with the intention to change into something more comfortable, I walked past Roxas's room and heard him and Xion talking through the crack in his door.

"He didn't say anything rude to you, did he?"

"No, he's fine, I'm fine."

"You've just been acting strange since you got here."

"Really, Roxas, I'm okay. I'm just a little stressed about school. Your, uh, brother seems like a nice guy."

"He's not my brother!" Roxas yelled, exasperated. "He's a stain on this family! A leech! A no-good miscreant with stupid hair! I can't stand him! And I'm disgusted how everyone can be so casual about it. He's a criminal, you can see his mug shot on the internet. He assaulted someone, Xion. And he's a burglar and he's on drugs, I saw him do them with his friends. I can't wait to leave for university, so I never have to see him again."

I was used to people voicing their displeasure about me, but somehow this hurt worse. We were fine before the kissing incident, joking around with each other and playing video games and eating chicken salad sandwiches together. Or maybe he was just faking it, I don't know. I stared hard at Roxas's bedroom door, my face warm from anger and embarrassment. He wasn't wrong.

With a small sigh, I opened the door and Roxas and Xion jumped in surprise. "Hey man," I said to Roxas, "Don't worry, you don't have to keep avoiding me. I'm just gonna leave."

"Y-you're going to leave?"

"Why stay when I'm just making everyone around me unhappy and uncomfortable?"

"You can't just leave, Axel."

"Sure I can, and I will," I deadpanned. I turned to go, but before I did, I looked over my shoulder at Xion, who didn't know what to say or do, and said, "Just so you know, babe, your boyfriend has very soft lips."

And then I left and slammed the door behind me. I quickly went into my room and grabbed my wallet and a bag of necessities. I quickly descended the stairs and casted a glance towards the back of the house, where the adults were still on the patio. "Uh, thanks, I guess," I said to them in a voice barely above a whisper.

I was about to walk out the door when Roxas came bounding down the steps. "Don't leave," he commanded. "I might not want you here but mom, dad, and Kairi do."

"I really don't care."

"You don't care about anyone but yourself, Axel."

I scoffed. "Well, aren't you a pot calling the kettle black."

"If you leave, I'll just have to tell mom and dad that you're violating your community service agreement."

"And cause a scene with the guests, I fucking dare you."

He pursed his lips together, knowing I was right. He cared more about appearances than anything else. "Whatever, Axel."

"Are you still upset about the kiss? Is that was this is all about?"

"Will you shut up about that already? I already told you I was sleep deprived and stressed out. Why would I want to kiss you? I can't even look at you for too long without getting slightly nauseous."

"You're such a charmer. No wonder your girlfriend cheats on you."

"Does it feel good, Axel? To use what I told you in confidence against me?"

"I don't know, Roxas. Does this feel good?"

He furrowed his brows and was about to ask what I was talking about, but before he could, I wrapped my arm around him and closed the gap between us. I kissed him, hard. And, surprisingly, he kissed me back. But it wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a kiss for dominance.

After a few seconds, he pushed me away, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving.

"You're disgusting," he spat, dragging the back of his hand across his lips.

"At least you'll never forget me."

And at that, I walked out of the front door and didn't even bother to close it. Roxas watched as I walked down the driveway and into the murk of the night. I was back to square one.


	9. chapter eight

**A/N:** I wanted to say something, but I forgot what it was.

* * *

chapter eight;  
**fistfight foreplay**

* * *

My eyes burned when I opened them, on account to the sheer curtains that allowed unconcentrated sunshine to pour in. I squeezed them closed and blindly reached over to the nightstand and grabbed my large bottle of cheap vodka and took a swig. I choked back the urge to regurgitate it and sighed. I was in a perpetual cycle of being sick and hungover. The alarm clock by my head told me it was around noon, which meant no one was home. So, like a zombie rising from the dead, I emerged from my coffin of sweat-saturated blankets and throw pillows. My breath could kill, so I chugged a bit more vodka, swishing it around my mouth and through my teeth, before spitting it into the bucket Naminé had left bedside for my convenience, since she knew I was an aggressive puker.

For the past week, I had been living in Riku and Naminé's guest room. After I left the Henley's that night, I wandered a bit until a taxi cab happened by. Using my shiny new credit card, I had him bring me to the only people who would never turn me away. We had a heartfelt reunion, and I felt a semblance of normalcy I hadn't felt since before our momentous trip to Marion. Naminé was right, I didn't need the Henley's, her and Riku were my family. Ansem was my family. I was my family. I gave everything up so easily to acquire something I already had.

But that didn't quell the feelings of depression and inadequacy. So I had been drinking a lot. Like, _a lot_. My credit card hadn't been cancelled, so I got drunk on Anastasia's dime. I'd head down to the bar and buy shots for everyone and leave only when they kicked me out. At which point I'd stumble back into the townhouse and finish my night off with cheap liquor from a drugstore. Naminé was worried about me, and Riku probably was, too. But they knew I was an adult, and that I had a lot of emotions to deal with.

I was surprised I hadn't been hauled away to jail yet, since I stopped attending my community service. Maybe they didn't know where to find me. Maybe I was a man on the run, a fugitive. When Riku and Naminé were gone, I kept all the curtains closed for good measure.

In the kitchen, I poked around for a snack, but then the thought of food make me nauseous and I threw up in the sink, all over their matching coffee mugs. I rinsed them and went off on an adventure to find some pain killers, finding a lucky stash of Vicodin in their bathroom medicine cabinet. I tried watching some television, but I was barely coherent. The news was on, something about wars or guns or politics. Or maybe it wasn't the news, maybe it was a talk-show, or QVC. The world around me was muddled and nonsensical, my bones were heavy. I drank some more.

"… Is he dead?"

"We can only be so lucky, Nami."

"He doesn't look so good."

A soft hand caressed my face and I leaned into it.

"See? He's alive. Just a little fucked up." I faintly heard the rattling of pills in a bottle. "He got into the heavy pain meds. Maybe we should invest in one of those child-locks."

"He's in a bad way, Riku. Should we, like, intervene or something? He's our friend and he's hurting."

"He's fine, he's healing. You have to peel off the scab for the cut to get better. Oh, and make sure he stays on his side so he doesn't choke on his own vomit."

When I woke up, I was back in the guest room and it was a new day.

* * *

_You never forget your first time._

_No matter how bad or awkward or spectacularly unspectacular, it's emblazoned in your memory, a milestone for your transcendence into the world of sexual activity. In a society where your worth is simultaneously correlated to both the amount of sex you get and don't get, it's hard to not put a value on your virginity or lack thereof. And when you grow up in the system, you don't really have any knowledgeable resources about sex, all your information comes from movies, late night television, and rap music. Your views on sex will probably skewed, and, in my case, carry absolutely no romantic or biological implication. You don't have sex for love or procreation, you have sex because it makes you feel powerful, and it makes your dick feel good._

_I lost my virginity when I was fourteen. Her name was Aurora and she was a sweet Christian girl who saw the good in everyone. We were partners in chemistry, and she'd look up at me with hopeful eyes, tucking a piece of her wavy blonde hair behind her ear. Blondes, I knew by this point, were my absolute weakness. Gods and goddesses with sunshine framing their faces, soft golden crowns._

_Aurora knew I was a shithead, I already had a reputation, but she thought deep-down I was a gentle soul that was just waiting to be saved. She was the kind of girl that wore sweaters and knee-length skirts, who carried her binder close to her chest and smiled at teachers in the hallway. Part of me found it endearing, while the other part of me found it annoying. One day, while we were walking to the library together, she asked me if I'd like to have dinner at her house while we worked on our science project. I laughed in her face and implied I'd burst into flames if confronted with the holiness of her home. But later, while having a laugh about it with my friends, one of them said, "Why don't you go? Maybe you can fuck her."_

_That got my hormones into overdrive. _

_Long story short, I did fuck her. On her frilly pink bed, under the cross on her wall, after some coaxing. To her, we were probably making love. But in those thirty seconds, I was experiencing pure selfish bliss. There wasn't a person beneath me, just an instrument in my pleasure. I came inside her, and she cuddled close to me like she had just saved my soul. And maybe, in a way, she did. I don't know._

_I didn't really talk to her after that. I felt guilty and didn't want to admit it. Rumor has it that she got pregnant, had an abortion, and was never the same. But it's just that, a rumor. I taught her a valuable lesson in that not everyone is a good person. _

_Last I heard of her, she got into a bad car accident and was in a coma. How's that for divine retribution?_

* * *

"I don't believe you," Ansem said, his nose in the air, as he nonchalantly waved me off with the hand that wasn't gripped around his glass of sangria.

"No, I'm serious. He kissed me. It was fuckin' weird."

"What kind of fucked-up incestual undertones are you trying to apply to this story?"

"I'm not trying to paint a sexy picture for you, Ansem, I'm just giving you the run-down. He kissed me out of nowhere, and then it turns out I fucked his girlfriend a couple months ago at Riku and Naminé's party."

"_No._"

"Yeah! Wild, right? So, our wieners have probably indirectly touched."

"Does he know you had sex with his girlfriend?"

"Nah, I wanted to tell him though, before I left. But it wouldn't have been fair to Xion. She's not the enemy here."

"So then what? You just left?"

I chugged some of my beer and suppressed a burp. "I mean, yeah, pretty much. I wasn't wanted. But I kissed Roxas before I left, though. To show him who's boss."

Ansem raised an eyebrow at me. "To show him who's boss? Geez, Axel. That's pretty homo."

"Yeah, you're right," I sighed. "Is it gross if I liked it? I mean, he's like seventeen, and he's my mom's stepson. Fuck, I'm disgusting. It just sounds super creepy when I say it out loud. And I don't actually _like_ him, ya'know? I guess I'm just jealous. I dunno," I rambled. "He's cute and vulnerable when he's not being a little shit. Like an armadillo."

"Why isn't there an HBO drama series about your life yet?"

"That's the million dollar question."

We were sitting at the bar in some chain restaurant catching up and I had just finished detailing the events of the past month and half. We nibbled on mozzarella sticks and drank cheap drinks since apparently Wednesday afternoon was happy hour. Ansem was happy to see me, and I was happy to see him. I offered to pay for our lunch date, since my intention was to butter him up so he'd let me move back into his apartment.

"So are you back here for good?" He asked.

I thought for a moment. "Yeah, I think so. I came to the revelation that I'm better off on my own. I don't need some hag's money or pity." The bartender came around and picked up my credit card. "Well," I said, "I guess the money isn't too bad."

Ansem and I shared a chuckle.

"So…" I trailed off, folding my arms behind my head.

"You want your room back?"

"Are you offering?"

"It's yours," he said. "On one condition."

"And what's that?"

"I've known you for a couple years, Axel. I don't know your whole life story, but I know what kind of person you are. You need closure. Just running without another word is just going to leave a lot of feelings and unanswered questions hanging in the air, a lot of what-ifs and conflictions. Go back to your mother's and sort it out. And then you can have your room back."

I chewed on my bottom lip, scraping off the dry skin. "That's, uh, pretty presumptuous of you, Ansem."

"Look, Axel, I'm old, I've been through my own fair share of shit. Life is unfair and cruel. But nothing is worse than wondering if you could've done something different, if your actions could've changed the outcome. When I came out to my mother many, many years ago, she called me all sorts of nasty things, and I told her I wished she was dead. And guess what? She died shortly after, and that was the last thing I said to her. Would she have died if I hadn't wished for it? She wasn't the kindest woman, but she was my mother. Maybe I could've made her understand, maybe I could've helped her accept me. But I'll never know." He took a drink. "Maybe you should hear your mother out. Maybe you should give your family a chance. Or at least say goodbye, chalk it up to a small adventure in your hectic life, and move on knowing where you stand, so you don't go the rest of your life what would've happened if you hadn't left."

The bartender dropped off the receipt and I scribbled my signature and a fat tip, while letting Ansem's words stew around in my mind.

"You don't have to decide now, just think about it, okay? Are you ready to go?"

On the ride back to Riku and Naminé's, I stared out the window and didn't say much. We pulled up just as Naminé was getting home from work and she walked over to my door and leaned over the open window. "Hey Ansem, thanks for getting him home safe."

"My pleasure, doll. He was very well-behaved, I'd love to take him out again soon."

She chuckled and opened the door for me.

"See ya, Ansem," I mumbled.

Inside, Naminé propped her easel up in the living room and began painting. I intended on retreating to the guest room and taking a nap, but decided to linger because I realized I didn't want to be alone. I was sick of being alone. She smiled at me as I pulled up a chair next to her. "Need any help?" I asked her.

"No, do you?"

I pressed my lips into a hard line and nodded.

She set her paintbrush aside and wrapped her small arms around me. I hugged her back, burying my face in her hair, reveling in the warmth of physical contact.

"Should I go back?" I asked, my words muffled.

"What does your heart say?"

"Be serious, Naminé. You know I don't have a heart."

She disengaged the hug and rested her palm on the side of my face, gently caressing me. "You have a bigger heart than you think. Stop selling yourself short."

"I just wanted a mom."

"I know, Axel."

"I just want to be loved."

"I know, Axel."

"Do you like your parents?"

"Well, you've met my mom, she's a lot like me. And my dad is very no-nonsense. But they put me through school and call every Sunday, so I can't complain."

"What about Riku's parents?"

"They're nice enough."

"Do you think either of them would want to adopt a slightly damaged yet incredibly charming redhead?" Despite my heavy face muscles, I gave her the best innocent boyish grin I could muster. "I'm great company."

She softly laughed, giving me a pat on the shoulder. "Be careful, you don't want to start a family feud over who gets to adopt you. Our parents already don't get along too well."

"You and Riku can adopt me."

"Number one, you're older than us. Number two, we basically have adopted you already. We feed you and bathe you, and give you a warm bed. We also make sure you don't die. That's a parent's job first and foremost, you know."

"Well, I'm not dead yet, so I guess you guys are doing a great job."

* * *

Another day. Same shit. This time, at least, I didn't puke.

I rolled out of bed and winced at the smell emanating from my pits.

I pulled some wrinkled garments from my hamper, preparing to take a nice hot shower. And I was almost out the door when there was an aggressive knocking from the other side.

"Yo, Ax, wake the fuck up" Riku called out before I had a chance to open it. When I did, he was standing with his hip cocked, a towel around his waist, and a toothbrush hanging from between his lips.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine. You look nice."

"Ah, bite me. Your little visitor interrupted my beautification process."

"Hah, you need more than a process for— wait, did you say a visitor? For me? Is it Ansem?"

"Nope. Close though."

I tried to peer past him in the doorway but he intentionally blocked my view. "Well, who is it?"

"I'll give you a hint."

"Okay…"

"Hitler babies."

My eyes widened. "What the fuck? Roxas is here? In the townhouse? Why?"

"Hey, I'm not your secretary. He showed up and asked for you and now I have him waiting in the living room and Naminé is still asleep so I can't get her to entertain him so you need to get your ass out there. I don't trust him by himself. He looks like he has a psychotic streak."

"Are you naked under that towel?"

He glared at me. "Don't stall, get out there."

"But I don't want to see him. Plus, I smell like road kill. Take a message?"

Riku roughly grabbed me by the arm and steered me out towards the living room, against my protests, where, true to his word, Roxas was sitting on the sofa, flipping through some coffee table book about Indian architecture. He looked up at me and grimaced, probably because I looked like shit. My roots were coming in, I looked tired and oily, and I was just in a pair of cruddy boxers and old Christmas socks with faded reindeers on them.

"Bad time?" He asked, a hint of something I couldn't discern in his voice. Distress?

Riku gave me a pat on the shoulder and whispered "go get 'em tiger" in my ear before going back upstairs to resume his beauty regime. I stood awkwardly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. My mouth felt like terrycloth. I wanted a drink.

"So," Roxas began, setting the book down and adjusting the collar on his blue polo. "I took a shot in the dark about where to find you. I figured you'd either be here or with the guy you used to live with."

"What do you want?" I asked, sounding harsher than intended. _No_, I thought to myself, _I'm perfectly justified in my virulence. _

"I want you to come back."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Why?"

He was silent for a moment, carefully thinking his next words through.

"Well?"

Exasperated, he sighed. "Because we want you there. All of us. Mom, dad, Kairi…" He took a deep breath. "And me. It's not the same without you there, okay?"

"You guys got along just fine the past seventeen years without me."

"In mine and Kairi's defense, we didn't know you existed. Don't be upset with us over your circumstances."

"I'm not. I'm upset because you're a little shit-eater. We were fine up until your stunt in your room, and suddenly I'm once again the bad guy, the criminal, the drug-addict. This is hard for me too, Roxas. I don't know how to feel about anything, and then you come along and make it all about you."

"I'm sorry," Roxas mumbled. "You're right, I've been selfish. My brain is fried and I'm tired of everything, and I thought you were the problem, but you're not. In fact, you've been helping. I know you're not fond of me, and maybe even jealous and resentful, but I enjoy your company. I don't have to try to impress you or be something I'm not, and you call me out on my bullshit. You're not an awful person, I know that. I'm sorry, Axel. Please come back."

I wanted to stay upset, but I just couldn't. I just felt defeated. "Did someone put you up to this?" I asked him.

"No. This is me trying to do the right thing."

"Noted. Now I'm going to take a shower and you're going to leave."

"Wait, what? Why? I'm here pouring my heart out."

"As nice a gesture as that may be, I'm over the whole thing. I'm twenty-five, Roxas, I can live my own life. So that's what I'm going to do. Thanks for stopping by."

Before he could sputter out a response, I quickly turned and retreated into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I turned on the shower as hot as it would go, stripped, and let the water burn away my feelings. I didn't know what I wanted. From him, from my mother, or from myself. I scrubbed my skin raw, hoping maybe the answers to all of my dilemmas rested beneath my epidermis.

Did they really want me back? What did they gain from me taking up space in their daily lives? Was I just a key to their repentance? What did they see when they looked at me, with my tattoos and dyed hair and bad posture? A chance for redemption? Good karma? Brownie points with god?

More importantly, did I want them in my life? I knew the answer, but hated admitting it to myself. My pathological need to belong and be liked put me at their mercy.

I probably spent forty minutes in the shower. When I got out, I couldn't see anything in the bathroom on account to the copious amount of steam, and my pores thanked me for the liberation. I felt around for a towel and wiped off the mirror over the sink so I could look at myself. It's funny how no matter how ugly we think we are, we are still fascinated and enamored by our own reflections. I saw my mother in my features. In a way, she'd been with me all along. Was my father with me, too? I wish I knew him.

After drying off and brushing my teeth, I dipped out, quickly slipping into the guest room with a sigh. My plans for the rest of the day involved heading out, getting drunk, and having sloppy sex with a stranger. Anything to prevent myself from thinking. With my back turned, I grabbed the clothes I had picked out earlier and was about to drop my towel when someone cleared their throat. I yelped and jerked towards the sound, and it was just Roxas sitting on my freshly made bed, poking around on his overpriced cell phone.

"Holy shit!" I yelled, as my heart rate steadied.

"You're not getting rid of me so easily, Axel," he casually stated, his eyes not leaving the screen.

"Get the fuck out, I'm naked!"

"Don't pretend like you're modest."

I took a deep breath. "Please leave. Go home. I have plans."

"What? Get drunk? Do drugs? Have intercourse with strangers?" My mouth hung agape as I came to the conclusion that he had mind-reading powers. Upon assessing my reaction, he raised his eyebrow. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Was I accurate in my assumption?"

With a disheartened slump of my shoulders, I sat on the edge of the bed. "What will it take to get you to go home?"

"Well, you can start by telling me why you and Xion were acting weird towards each other that night."

"Xion?" I feigned ignorance.

"Don't play coy. I've known Xion for several years and I know when something's up. Do you guys know each other?"

"Is that why you're really here? To give me the third-degree?"

"Not entirely. I do want you to come back. And you have to finish your community service. Mom can only tell them you're sick for a little bit longer. I think her next plan is to tell them you have inoperable cancer or something. Or that you died. I don't know. But seriously, Axel, where do you know Xion from?"

"I really don't know Xion. I met her that night and she seemed very nice. Her dad seemed like a asshole, though."

Roxas threw his phone to the side and put his face into his hands. He let out a groan. "Axel," he said, his voice muffled, "I know Xion gets into trouble. I just want to know what kind. Do you guys share a drug dealer and met in passing? Does she frequent parties?"

"How old is Xion?"

"Eighteen."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

He picked his head up and gave me a look, as if all the pieces were coming together. "Oh my god," he mouthed. I chewed on my lower lip. "You had sex with her?"

"Way before I kn—" I was about to explain when all of a sudden there was a weight on me and I was off the bed and on the ground. There was a blow to my jaw.

"I fucking knew it." Hearing Roxas use the f-word was like hearing a little kid say it. "You're a scheming degenerate. I don't know how you found out about her, or how you coerced her—"

"Roxas! This was bef—"

He hit me again, and this time something in me snapped and I threw him off of me, causing him to land against the bureau and let out a painful hiss. I got up and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up to eyelevel with the strength adrenaline granted me. "Listen, you little piece of shit, this was before I knew you. How was I supposed to know that some random girl I fucked at a party would be the little girlfriend of the son my mom picked over me, huh?" I slammed him against the bureau. "Huh? Fucking riddle me that." My anger started to subside and I looked at Roxas's flushed, tear-stained face. I dropped him and he crumpled to the floor.

During the tussle, my towel came off, so I quickly slipped on my boxers and stood over Roxas, whose eyes were glued to the ground. I silently offered him my hand, and to my surprise he took it. I helped him up and guided him to the bed. He winced in pain when he sat.

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

"Me too," he responded in a voice no louder than mine.

We marinated in awkward silence until he spoke up again. "Hey Axel?"

"Hm?"

"You were right."

"About?"

But he didn't tell me. Instead he leaned forward and kissed me. Without thinking it through, I kissed him back. I gently guided him onto his back and he wrapped his arms around me as I climbed on top of him. Kissing him felt wrong, but it only made me want to do it more. Maybe he felt the same way. After what felt like an eternity, we separated, both of us out of breath like we just ran a marathon.

"I don't understand it," he said between breaths. "Why do I like you so much?"

"I don't know," I said. "But I'm not complaining."

We locked lips again.

"Is your face okay?" He asked when we pulled apart again.

"Probably. How's your back?"

"It hurts. But I deserved it."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Maybe I did, too." I rolled off of him and laid on my back with my eyes to the ceiling. "I'm sorry about Xion. I really didn't know. This was before I showed up to the house that one day. Before I broke in."

"What a small world."

"Small and fucked up."

"Like me."

"Yeah," I agreed again. "Like you." He turned to glare at me and I chuckled.

"This is the most ridiculous situation," he said. "You had sex with my girlfriend and then we made out. Not to mention, we share a mom."

"You forget to mention the part where you randomly kissed me and then ignored me for several weeks."

"I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of wanting to do it again."

"What do you want from me, Roxas?"

"I want you to come back, and I want to pretend like this never happened."

"If that's the case, can I have a little more before we go back to hating each other?"

I didn't have to ask twice, and we were on each other again with no time to waste. Roxas kissed with such desperation, like this was the last bit of physical affection he'd receive ever again. And I matched it, because I craved the contact. He had coffee breath, and even the bitterness tasted sweet on his tongue. It all felt like a dream that I never wanted to wake up from.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but Roxas is parked behind me and I have to run some errands."

We froze and slowly looked towards the doorway where Naminé was politely smiling.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry about that," Roxas said in a shaky voice. "I'll get going. But I'll be back later to get Axel." He wiggled out from under me and shamefully slinked out of the room. Me and Naminé remained motionless until we heard the opening and closing of the front door. I collapsed onto the bed where Roxas's body had been just moments before.

"This is a new development," Naminé said. "Sorry to barge in, but I knocked a few times. I have to deliver some artwork for a showing today. Though, I'm glad it was that, since by the sound of things, you guys were fighting. I didn't want our guest room to be a crime scene for murder."

I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say.

"Never a dull moment with you, Axel. Want to take a ride with me to the gallery? We need to spend time together before you leave again."


	10. chapter nine

**A/N:** It's Mother's Day, Momma's Boy is over a year old now and I want to take a quick moment to thank you, reader, for your support. I know I'm slow to update and I'll try to be better, but thanks for sticking around.

I'm sorry I don't respond to reviews and messages, it's nothing personal. I'm usually hella busy and don't actually check this site too often. I read and appreciate every one of them, though. I'll try to be better with that, too. I love you all.

* * *

chapter nine;  
**espresso con panna**

* * *

"So," I said, flicking the butt of my cigarette out of the window, "Where are we going?"

Roxas, who was driving, gave me a coy smile like he was up to no good. "Oh, nowhere. Just wanted to get out of the house, didn't you?"

"Considering the house is big and fancy and is everything I've ever wanted, I don't mind the house."

Back in the Henley household, things were back to relative normalcy, if you could call it that. I was back to being a stain of guilt, and Roxas pretended we never played tonsil hockey, but, all in all, things could've been worse. The day I returned, Anastasia, Mr. Henley, and Kairi were all waiting in the foyer with gentle smiles. With my lips pressed into a hard line, I wondered if Roxas was going to be hailed a hero for bringing me back.

It had been a week. We were back to the daily grind, as if I never left. They even bought me an expensive cellphone that I didn't know how to use. Then, on a Wednesday afternoon after Roxas was finished with class, he asked if I'd like to go somewhere with him. We were amicable to each other, but not quite this friendly, so I was suspicious.

"Don't worry, Axel, I'm not going to drop you off in the middle of nowhere and leave you."

"That's exactly what someone would say if they were going to drop me off in the middle of nowhere and leave me."

"Honestly, for smoking in my car, I should abandon you. Your smoking habit is disgusting."

"Sorry, I smoke when I'm nervous," I admitted, discreetly pressing the cig I just pulled out back into the crushed carton in my pocket.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Do I make you nervous?"

"A little."

"And why's that?"

"I haven't yet figured out you or your family's intentions. For all I know, you guys are cannibals or scientologists or something, and you're all going through so much effort to convince me you're all just a regular family so that when I finally assimilate, you'll use me as a blood sacrifice."

"Are you high?"

"Pft, I wish."

"Why would we go through so much trouble to keep you around if we're just going to sacrifice you? Surely we could've called a family meeting and pooled our resources to find someone who is a lot nicer and more easily influenced. And better looking, too. And definitely someone who doesn't sleep with our girlfriends."

I wearily eyed Roxas. We were on good enough terms, but that didn't stop him from constantly bringing up the fact I had sex with Xion. He was preoccupied with it, and I was awaiting the day he would drop the friendly charade and snap at me again, since he's shown he has the capacity for violent streaks. I just hoped when that day came, it'd be a swift death. "C'mon, man, low blow."

He forced himself to laugh, but I could tell the bitterness lingered. I was molded by bitterness, so I had a sixth sense for these things.

"What can I do to make it up to you, huh? Want me to get a girlfriend so you can fuck her? Or maybe a boyfr—"

"Just shut up, Axel."

Hinting towards his homosexuality was strictly off-limits, but sometimes it's fun to torment.

We pulled into a plaza and into a parking spot in front of a coffee shop. I quirked an eyebrow. "Coffee? You have one of those fancy-ass coffee machines at home. Why'd we need to drive ten minutes away for coffee?"

"Like I said," he turned off the car and stepped out, using the reflection in the tinted windows to preen. "I just wanted to get out of the house. Come on, I'll treat you."

The inside of the coffee shop wasn't too different from every other coffee shop. It was small and decorated with paintings of Venice, and on the menu board were drink names prefaced by their Italian counterpart. You weren't supposed to order a coffee, you were supposed to order _un caffè_. I rolled my eyes at the pretension. No one goes to small coffee shops to pretend like they're in Italy. They go to sate their caffeine addiction and/or sit in the corner with their laptops to work on their shitty screenplays and novels that will never see the light of day.

We stepped up to the unmanned counter and eyed the menu.

"I worked in an Italian deli," I told Roxas, "And it was less Italian than this. I can guarantee this place isn't run by an Italian. Probably just some American with a massive hard-on for Italy after visiting once."

"You're right, the owner is not Italian," he said. And as if on cue, someone walked out from the back room carrying a tray of clean coffee cups.

"Oh, hey Roxas, you didn't tell me you were going to stop by."

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he said, charmingly leaning against the counter. "You remember Axel, right?"

She didn't seem to notice me at first, but when we made eye contact she went a little pale. "Y-yeah, I remember. Hey, Axel. How're you?"

"I'm great," I told her, trying to resist the urge to punch Roxas in the jaw for whatever stunt he was trying to pull. "And you?"

"I'm fine," she said meekly.

"Xion's parents own this coffee shop," Roxas explained, "And she works here after school during the week."

We fell into an uncomfortable silence and I focused my attention on the menu, scanning through the Italian names for drinks I'd never heard of.

Was Roxas getting off on this?

"We have some tiramisu, if you'd like some," Xion offered. "It was made this morning."

"Sure, why not. I'll take a piece. Axel, want some?"

"I've never had."

"You worked at an Italian restaurant and you never had tiramisu?" He asked, bewildered.

"It was a shitty deli, not a fucking Olive Garden."

"We'll share, Xion. So just give us two spoons. Oh, and two espressos."

"Sure, no problem," she said with a smile before disappearing into the back again.

When I was sure she was completely out of earshot, I grabbed Roxas by his upper arm and pulled him towards me. "What the fuck are you doing?" I growled through gritted teeth.

"Getting us some coffee and some dessert," he said innocently.

"Cut the shit, you know what I mean."

He batted his long, dark eyelashes at me.

"Are you fucking serious right now, Roxas? What's wrong with you? Are _you_ high?"

Roxas scoffed and shoved me away. "You're always telling me to loosen up, maybe you should take your own advice."

Xion came back out with a small plate of tiramisu. She set it on the counter in front of two stools, so we made our way over. "The espressos will take just a minute, I'll bring them over when they're done. Enjoy, guys."

Xion still looked terrified, and I wanted to tell her that she didn't have to be scared anymore, that the jig was up. She turned to fiddle with the espresso machine while Roxas and I sat, the piece of Italian dessert between us, marinating in tension. He grabbed his spoon and scooped a piece of the corner. When he brought it to his mouth, he let out an audible moan.

"Is it good, babe?" Xion asked him.

"Yeah, it's great. Here, Axel, you try."

"Nah, I'm good."

He huffed, set his spoon on the plate, and picked up mine. With furrowed brows, I watched him load the spoon up. I didn't, however, expect the spoon to make a bee-line towards my mouth. I pressed my lips together.

"Come on, Axel, open up. Just try it, it's delicious."

I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster and turned my head away. By this point, we've commanded the full attention of Xion who was probably absolutely perplexed. Last she saw of me, I told her Roxas had soft lips and stormed out. And that was after Roxas told her I'm a drug-addicted criminal. So Roxas trying to force-feed me a spoonful of tiramisu must've been the weirdest shit she'd seen in a while.

"Please try it," he pleaded.

I angrily grabbed the spoon from his hand and fed myself. "There," I said, my voice rising, "Happy?"

"A little," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the beginnings of a dimple making itself known. "But, you've got some on you, right," his thumb glided over my bottom lip, "there. Got it."

This was all a game to him. It had to be. It was a reminder that Roxas was still essentially a child, despite how much he tried to act like he wasn't. This whole thing was nothing more than petty drama, proving that no matter how privileged you are, you're still subject to it.

If Xion was weirded out, she didn't make it known. In fact, she was probably too busy walking on eggshells to overthink Roxas's behavior. She brought us our espressos with a cute smile. I wondered if under different circumstances, I would be with Xion. If she wasn't Roxas's arm candy, and I wasn't a piece of shit, would we have seen each other again after our one-night stand? More importantly, did I still owe her money for ripping her bra?

I sipped my espresso, imagining a life in which I was happy and successful, with a cute Asian wife and a labrador retriever. I didn't notice I was staring at Xion until I noticed she was staring at me. For a moment, I wished we could communicate telepathically.

"It's rude to stare," Roxas said, crossing his arms over his chest. I don't know which one of us it was directed towards. He polished off the rest of tiramisu by himself and pulled out his credit card, sliding it across the counter.

"You don't have to pay," Xion said, picking the card up and attempting to hand it back. "I tell you this every time. You're a part of the family."

"I don't think I am," Roxas deadpanned, pushing her hand away.

Her face fell. "What do you—"

"Oh, you know."

Suddenly, angry steel-blue eyes were on me. They were betrayed, accusing, virulent. "You," she hissed, her voice low. "Why? Why couldn't you just keep it to yourself?" Her voice cracked, all hostility breaking away, and in its stead, sadness. "It was a mistake, you know. I had no idea who you were."

"Likewise," I said, trying to keep composure while my leg bounced anxiously.

"It's a small world after all," Roxas chimed in, his tone indifferent.

"So you knew all this time?" Xion asked him. "And you didn't say anything?"

"Actually, I only learned about a week ago."

"I'm sorry, Xion," I apologized, because I did feel bad.

She wiped her forming tears on her apron. It was a good thing the coffee shop was empty save for some hipster in the corner who was typing away on his MacBook and paying us no mind.

"You both are so dramatic," Roxas scoffed. "It's done, alright?"

"We're done?" Xion asked.

"Yeah."

She looked broken and it made my heart ache. Cheating is bad, but pretending to care about someone until they make a mistake is no better. "So, let me get this straight, you took me here so you could act all holier-than-thou and cause a scene? What the fuck, Roxas."

"No, I took you here to get coffee."

"From the get-go this was a game to you. Fuck you. You're fuckin' twisted." I quickly stood up and the stool scraped against the wood floor. "Xion, don't let it bother you, he never cared anyway. It was all about appearances to him. Wanna know why? Because he's a fucking faggot."

I stormed out of the coffee shop. When I came to Roxas's parked Bentley, I had the urge to kick in the fender and hock a loogie on his windshield. Instead I walked around to the other side of the shop near the dumpster and plopped down on the pavement, my knees to my chest. I fished my new cellphone out of my the pocket of my jeans and looked at it, catching my reflection in the screen. I'd never had my own cellphone before. I turned it on and poked around on the touchscreen, trying to figure out how to make it do phone things. Finally, I managed to open the contacts, and scrolled down to the one person I never thought I'd ever be calling.

It rang once.

"Hi. Yeah, it's me. Everything is fine. Can you just pick me up, please?"

* * *

"Did something happen? Are you okay?" Anastasia asked me as I got into her car. I had walked about a mile away from the coffee shop, towards some fancy shopping centers and bank buildings. Anything to get far away from Roxas. Sweat beaded on my hairline and upper-lip, I chose the wrong day to wear all black.

"Me and Roxas got into a…" I took a moment to think of the right phrasing. "A disagreement. Who would've thunk it, huh?"

"Where is he now?"

"Dunno, probably on his way home to whine about what a horrible piece of shit I am."

"Axel…"

"What?"

She reached over and placed her hand on my knee. Her nails were perfectly manicured, a big change from the bitten-down stumps I remember from my childhood. "You're too hard on yourself. I'll deal with Roxas later. I know how he can be."

"Oh, do you?"

"He can be difficult."

"Difficult? Try sociopathic. Whatever pills Mr. Henley has him taking need to have their dosage upped."

She eyed me curiously. "He told you he takes medication?"

"Why? Is it some big family secret? I don't give a shit that he's on meds."

"It's just that Roxas is a very private person. That's part of the reason he doesn't have many friends."

"He doesn't have many friends because he's a bag of dicks."

Anastasia pressed her lips into a hard line, and I thought I had upset her by shit-talking her precious little baby. But then she let out burst of laughter. "You're very crude. You have the same sense of humor I had when I was young."

"Oh yeah? What happened to it, then?"

She sighed sadly and her smile faded. "Life happened."

"Drugs? An unwanted pregnancy?"

"Pretty much."

I looked out the window at the town as we drove by. Quaint storefronts with wooden signs, upper-class pedestrians in their nice clothes, pure-bred dogs on leather leashes. How simple life must be for some people. From the corner of my eye, I watched Anastasia. She seemed deep in thought.

"Man, I really ruined your life, huh?" I asked her.

"What? No. You didn't ruin my life, Axel. I promise you. If anything, you saved my life."

"You don't gotta make shit up."

"I'm serious."

"So why did you pretend I didn't exist? I still don't understand that part."

"I… I don't want to talk about this. Despise me all you want, I deserve it."

"Jesus, this whole family is comprised of weirdoes who don't make any fuckin' sense. Except for maybe Kairi, she's pretty normal."

"Everyone has their issues, Axel. It's part of life."

We pulled up to the house, behind Roxas's parked car. He seemed to have no qualms about leaving me behind. I unbuckled my seatbelt and was about to get out when Anastasia grabbed my arm.

"Wait," she said, "Before we go inside, I want to talk for a moment. About Roxas."

"What now?"

"He's been behaving strangely lately, and I know you guys have been spending time together." My heart thumped in my ears. "It's just…" She hesitated. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything…"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Images of a flushed-cheek Roxas danced in my head. I must've looked so guilty. "Yeah?"

"His academics have been declining. He doesn't seem to care as much as before. Now, I know you guys aren't exactly friends right now, but I just want to make sure you're not negatively influencing him. His teachers have noticed a stark change in his work ethic."

My fear and guilt dissolved into anger. I scoffed. "Seriously?"

"I'm not accusing you. I'm just putting it out there. All jokes aside, Roxas is a boy with a lot of potential and I'd hate to see it go to waste. I can see you're very rebellious and outspoken, but please don't interfere with his future. And by that, I mean don't tease him about his scholastics, he's very sensitive. He's worked so hard up until this point to just throw it all away. I'm hoping he's just a little burnt out and that he'll be back to normal soon."

"Oh, I see how it is. You think Big Bad Axel is tainting poor precious Roxas. Ah, of course Axel is anti-school, he's a lowlife uneducated retard. But we can't have that spreading to our little prodigy, we can't have Axel sabotaging our careful conditioning. You know what, you can fuck off."

"That's not what I meant."

"I should've stayed away," I spat at her. "You're all fucking ridiculous and I'm getting real tired of having to storm off all the goddamn time!" I got out of the car and slammed the door.

When I got to the front of the house, Ivana was waiting in the doorway. "I hear yelling," she said, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I told her, "Everything is fine."

* * *

People tend to underestimate the power of a good bed. And as I laid in the dark, wrapped in layers of sheets and blankets, feeling like I was resting upon a cumulus cloud, I found myself feeling at peace. It was around midnight, and since I got back to the house in the early evening, I'd been garrisoned in my pink room. At one point, Ivana knocked and asked if I'd like to come down for dinner, to which I declined with the excuse that I wasn't hungry. But really, I just wasn't in the mood. She came back about an hour later to bring me a sandwich and a glass of iced tea. "It's not good to not eat, Mr. Axel," she lectured.

For a little while, I texted back and forth with Riku, since I could do that now. But then he went to bed. I wanted to sleep, too. But I couldn't, so I just rested my eyes.

And maybe I would've dozed off, if I didn't hear the creaking of my door opening and the soft padding of feet on the plush carpet. I shifted slightly and popped one eye open, trying to scout the dark for my visitor with no avail. At first I figured it was probably Ivana, coming in to collect my dirty dishes, but then I remembered it was past midnight and that she'd have gone home by now. Another part of me thought it was burglar, and how painfully ironic that would've been. Finally, in the midst of my pondering, the bed shifted as a weight was applied to the other side.

I forced myself to breathe rhythmically to feign sleep. In the back of my mind, I knew exactly who it was.

My visitor gently crawled closer to me, and a hand scouted the lump I formed beneath the blankets. "Axel?" He called out in a loud whisper.

I didn't know whether to confront him or continue to pretend to be asleep. I decided on the latter, I wanted to see what he'd do. He peeled back my sheets and comforter and settled in next to me. His body was so cold, and body temperature must've been on his mind too, because he softly observed, "Wow, you're really warm."

He cuddled up close to me to leech my heat.

"Are you asleep, or just ignoring me?"

_Both_, I thought to myself.

"Either way, I just wanted to apologize about today. I don't want you to be mad at me."

"You should've thought about that before being a little piece of shit."

"Aha, you are awake."

"You caught me."

He nuzzled his face against my bare chest and wrapped his arm around me. I wanted to be mad, but I couldn't. I am a slave to affection. "I'm sorry, Axel," he said, his voice muffled. "I just… I wanted it to be over. And I wanted to punish Xion."

"That's disgusting. Xion's guilt was punishment enough. Plus, you're not exactly innocent."

"I never claimed I wasn't a hypocrite."

I pushed Roxas away and rolled over so that my back was to him. "Well, go be a hypocrite in your own bed."

"I think you owe me," he said as he began lazily playing with my hair. "I let you sleep in my bed that one time. You ought to return the favor."

"You want to sleep in here?"

"Among other things."

My cheeks went warm, something they haven't done in a very long time. "What are you talking about?"

Suddenly, he forced me to roll on my back and then there was a weight on my waist as he straddled me. I clumsily reached over to the nightstand to turn on the lamp, exposing a pajama-clad Roxas in his disheveled glory. In the light, I could see the strange look on his face, with his half-lidded eyes and flushed face. It was a look I was all too familiar with.

"Roxas, you're going to regret being sleazy in the morning. Just go rub one out like the rest of us."

But he didn't listen, and instead leaned forward and kissed me. I'm weak and I kissed back. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer to me. He tangled his fingers in my hair, groaning into my mouth, and I was engrossed by every inch of him. In the chaos, I managed to remove his t-shirt, and I planted kisses along his shoulders, his collarbone, his neck. I wanted to devour him.

We separated and looked each other in the eyes with a mixture of shame and contentment.

"I want you," he said, breathless.

Those words alone, spoken in his soft tenor, were enough to make my mind go blank as all the blood left my brain. There's something so sexy about someone telling you they want you, the validation and the ego boost serve as the best aphrodisiac. I forgot all about being upset with him, I forgot about Xion, about my mom, about my feelings of inadequacy, about my shitty childhood. In that moment, there was only us.

I grabbed him close and we continued our makeout session.

A clammy hand snaked down past my hips and dipped into the waistband of my boxers, I sharply inhaled at the contact. "Wow," he said. "You're really hard."

"It's been awhile," I told him. But really, it was because I was very attracted to him, as much as I knew I shouldn't be. He wrapped his fingers around my dick, and I involuntarily shuddered. "Roxas…"

He removed his hand and rolled off of me. I was about to protest despite better judgment, but he tossed off the covers and moved himself to the bottom of the bed. I watched him carefully, wrought with anticipation. He positioned himself between my legs and tugged at my boxers until I was exposed. Usually, I wasn't self-conscious about my penis. But for some reason, under Roxas's gaze, I felt flustered. He saw me naked that day when he showed up and Riku and Naminé's, but I was flaccid and it wasn't under sexual pretense. This was completely different.

"You're not circumcised," he casually noted.

"Is that a problem?"

Instead of answering me outright, he bent his head down and took me into his mouth. I let out a sigh.

If someone would've told me a couple months ago that I would soon get blown by my biological mother's stepson, I would've laughed in their face and asked what drugs they were on. And yet, there I was. I could tell Roxas had never sucked dick before, but it doesn't exactly require much mechanical skill. I watched as his head bobbed up in down, his slurps and grunts harmonizing my deep breaths. It was so wrong, but it felt so right. My conscience didn't stand a chance against my libido. He peered up at me with his beautiful blue bedroom eyes under his fringe. I wanted to cum right there. He must've known, because he suddenly stopped.

"Jesus, Roxas," I groaned, "You're driving me crazy."

The next words out of his mouth lingered in the forefront my brain. "Fuck me," he said.

It was at this point that I started to regain my senses. This was my mom's son, a privileged private school overachiever. An arrogant seventeen year old kid who was struggling with his sexuality. As horny as I was, as much as I would've loved to ravage him, I couldn't. I had seven years on him, and I knew better than to take advantage of someone's vulnerability. Despite the front I put on, I wasn't that much of a scumbag.

I pulled my boxers up and sat up in bed, causing Roxas to furrow his brows in confusion. "I can't do that, Roxas," I said softy.

"What? Why not?"

"You're young, and you're not thinking straight. I don't want to willingly sleep with someone who will regret it in the morning."

He scoffed at me, trying to mask the hurt on his face with anger. "Since when have you been this paragon of virtue? You had sex with Xion, she's also young. You do drugs and party and you admitted to me you've had STDs due to your frivolous views on casual sex, so don't tell me that all of a sudden, you wouldn't feel comfortable with having sex with _me_."

"Let me get this straight, you want to sleep with me because I'm a big fuckin' whore?"

"No, you idiot, I want to sleep with you because I like you, as preposterous as it sounds." He crumpled into a heap on the bed. "Why can't I ever be good enough?"

It was a question that I'd asked myself so many times over the years, and hearing someone as perfect as Roxas utter it felt strange. Somehow, I knew that he wasn't just talking about sex. "You're good enough, Roxas." I reached over to him and pulled him into me. "I hate your guts sometimes, but you're good enough."

He hugged me back, nestling his face into my chest. "I wish I was you," he mumbled. "Carefree and unabashed."

"Eh, I'm just really good at internalizing. If it's any consolation, I wish I was you. Nice house, nice parents, nice car, cute girls throwing themselves at me."

"You forgot to add the weight of unattainable expectations and the crippling anxiety and depression."

"Hey, I've got those, too."

"Axel?"

"Yeah, Roxas?"

"I'm sorry about today. I'm sorry I'm so awful sometimes."

"Everyone has their issues, Roxas. It's part of life."

"I swear that's something mom says…"

We laid like that for a while, both of us silent. At some point, I nudged Roxas to see if he was awake, and he wasn't. So I turned off the light and carefully shifted to get comfortable without waking him up. Naminé was right, there was never a dull moment with me. And as I drifted off to sleep, I wondered how it was possible to both like and loathe a person simultaneously.

It had been a strange day.


	11. chapter ten

**A/N:** Hi. I didn't have the time to fully proofread but I wanted to get this finished so I could devote all my time and attention to the piece I'm working on for AkuRoku day. So, uh, if there's any massive grammatical errors, I'm sorry.

* * *

chapter ten;  
**holding hands in the shower**

* * *

_Everything looks pretty from afar_  
_But the feeling's wrong, but the feeling's wrong_  
_Now we're holding hands in the shower_  
_But the feeling's gone, but the feeling's gone  
_—Holding Hands In The Shower, NPSH_  
_

* * *

For some reason, I woke up feeling exceptionally lonely.

I sat up, wiped the crust from my eyes, and blinked away the sleep. My phone alarm continued to chirp and I struggled to find the motor skills to turn it off. Once in silence, I could think better. And I remembered the events of the previous night as well as the answer to why I felt so alone; Roxas wasn't in my bed anymore. I looked at the empty mass of blankets to my side, wondering when he managed to sneak out.

I clumsily rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of flannel pants I had laying around on the floor. Waking up alone after the events of last night left me feeling like I was pumped and dumped. But how many people have I snuck out on over the years?

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I wandered down the hallway towards Roxas's room and gave his door a couple knocks before letting myself in. He was laying on his bed in his school uniform while he texted on his cellphone, his face burrowed into a pillow so that only his eyes were visible. Once he saw me, his brows furrowed.

"Good morning," I greeted cheerfully, plopping on the bed next to him. He quickly locked his phone and tossed it to the side, turning his face to me.

"Can I help you?" He asked, clearly not as excited about my presence as I was about his.

"Yeah, I'm looking for the little snuggle bunny that hopped into my bed last night. He's about five feet tall, blonde, blue eyes, pouty lips—"

"I don't know what you're talking about," He snapped. "And I'm not five feet tall."

"Oh, is this what we're doing again? Pretending nothing happened?"

"Nothing did happen." He wouldn't even make eye contact.

"Roxas, spare me the melodramatic regret. You and I both know—"

"Both know that what happened was wrong on every front."

"I want to punch you in the teeth sometimes. But I don't want to ruin your pretty face."

"Just go. Please."

"No, I'm tired of this. We're gonna talk." I rolled into a position that mirrored his, my face just inches from his face. I could smell the toothpaste and coffee on his breath. "I like you, Roxas. And you like me. I mean, the circumstances are a little weird admittedly, but I'm sure weirder things have happened."

"So, what, you want to be illicit gay lovers with your birth mother's son?"

"Okay, it sounds a little fucked up when you phrase it like that. But we don't _have_ to be gay lovers, I can put on a dress or something and let you fuck me in the ass."

He went pink in the cheeks at my vulgarity. "It's not natural, Axel."

"How isn't it not natural? We're just two people who kinda like each other. Not a big deal. Get over your self-hating homophobia already. It's cliché."

"I'm not talking about the gay thing, the whole family circumstances thing. What if my parents found out? What if Kairi found out? My friends? Xion? What if this is just a phase?" He buried his face back into his pillow and mumbled something that sounded like 'You're not perfect'.

I leaned closer to him. "Huh?"

He lifted his face up and looked at me with tired eyes. "My entire life it's been hardwired into me that I can't be anything but perfect. And you, Axel, are the opposite of perfect."

"Who told you to be perfect? Like I said before, perfection doesn't exist. Get over yourself already."

With an angry sigh, he tossed his pillow off the side of the bed. "Forget it, okay? You don't know what it's like."

Those were the magic words. The words that make me snap.

"Don't know what what's like? To have parents who care? To have a nice home? To not have to worry about where you're going to wind up next or where you're going to get your next meal? To not wonder why you were abandoned at the ripe age of five fucking years old?" I was getting upset at his self-victimization, and the implication that he was the one with hardships. "You're right, Roxas, I don't know what any of that is like. You've _really _had it rough."

"What is it with you always having to one-up my suffering with your own? I never said you had it easy. It's not a competition. We are from very different circumstances."

"Except my circumstances involved actual suffering, whereas yours just leave you whining about how you have to be perfect all the time, which, honestly, sounds like you're so far up your own ass that you've fermented. All you rich pretty kids have such a fuckin' victim complex."

"Fuck you, Axel," he hissed. I hadn't noticed, but fresh tears were dripping down his reddened cheeks. "Fuck you. Get out."

"What? Did I strike a chord? Go take a Prozac and get over it. And once you're feeling better, we can talk about last night."

"I killed my mom, okay?" He blurted. My head spun at the outburst.

There was a silence. I didn't know how to respond to that.

"Is that what you needed to hear? Huh? Does that validate my feelings? Can I join the suffering club now, chairman Axel? Or are you the only person in the world that's allowed to be upset with his circumstances?" He wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his button-up. "You know what? Forget it. You should've stayed with your friends, wallowing forever. It's all you'll ever be good at." He got off the bed and turned away from me, his body visibly shaking.

"Roxas," I said softly, "Roxas, I… I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter," he deadpanned. "It's done."

"I'm sorr—"

"Go."

I lingered for a few extra seconds, replaying our words in my head. I thought back to the brief excerpt about Roxas's birth mom in Anastasia's book, how she died when Roxas was just a baby. There were no details, just that she was dead. I never considered the possibility that she died giving birth, or that Roxas was carrying around a guilt that has festered for seventeen years. It dawned on me that I was the asshole here.

Without another thought, I got up and walked over to Roxas. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and hugged him from behind. "I'm sorry, Roxas."

"If I'm not perfect," He whispered, "Then she died in vain."

He didn't pull away like I expected him to. I buried my face into his soft blond hair, which smelled like salon-grade shampoo. Pressed up against him, I could feel him breathing, and I tried to synchronize our inhales and exhales. As lame as it sounds, I could've stayed like that forever. And maybe I would've, if there wasn't a knock on the door that caused us to quickly separate.

"Are you both in there? Axel isn't in his room," Kairi called out from the other side. "It's time for breakfast."

"Yeah, we'll be right down," Roxas responded, no hint of emotion in his voice. He didn't seem concerned about what Kairi would think about us together alone in his room. And I guess he had no reason to. What fourteen year old girl would come to the conclusion that her brothers were drama-fueled makeout buddies?

Down at the breakfast table, we sat and ate eggs and toast in relative silence. Kairi was flipping through a text book, reviewing for a test she had that morning, and Anastasia and Mr. Henley talked quietly amongst themselves as to not disturb her. I watched Roxas push his food around absentmindedly. At some point, Anastasia made eye-contact with me and I remembered our talk yesterday where she accused me of corrupting Roxas.

If only she knew the events of the previous night. I wondered how'd she'd react, upon gaining knowledge of her precious step-son's homosexuality and affinity for redheaded fuck-ups. I'd be to blame, I'm sure. Would she kick me out?

"Axel, you look like you have a lot on your mind," She noted.

"I'm tired."

"Well, your community service is over in a little over a month, and then you can focus on other endeavors."

"Like?"

"You can see about getting a diploma or equivalency, and then maybe you can attend college."

That piqued Roxas's interest. "You don't have a diploma?" He asked, incredulous. His sadness from earlier long since evaporated.

Suddenly, I felt like a piece of shit all over again. "No…"

"How? You're not _that_ stupid, are you?"

"Roxas," Anastasia scolded. "I got my GED when I was twenty-two. Diplomas are not always an accurate reflection of intelligence."

"I was valedictorian," Mr. Henley piped up, "And then I proceeded to fail all my courses my first year of university. Lost my scholarship."

"Then why are you both so hard on me to be a perfect student?" Roxas was clearly feeling snippy, our exchange in his room clearly took a huge hit on his mood and threshold for bullshit. "If I didn't graduate, neither of you would see it as acceptable."

"Because we know you're fully capable to excel," Mr. Henley said.

I looked down at my plate, the puddles of yolk and pieces of crust from my toast. I knew Anastasia was looking at me, probably figuring I was the cause of Roxas's attitude. Which, in a way, I guess I was.

"Am I capable? Or have I been pushing myself to meet your high expectations?"

"We have high expectations of you because we know you can meet them."

Roxas scoffed. "Whatever, I'm going." He got up and pulled on the blazer that was hanging on the back of his chair. "Come on, Kairi. Let's go make mom and dad proud."

Oblivious to the drama unfolding around her, she got up and followed Roxas out of the kitchen, her nose never leaving her text book.

* * *

"_So…" I said, idly poking at a ceramic horse statue on my caseworker's desk, "This is gonna be it, huh?"_

_My caseworker, a khakis-wearing prematurely balding man in his thirties, slid the statue out of my reach. "You'll be eighteen in a couple weeks. A legal adult. You'll no longer be under the state's care." _

"_The state's care?" I laughed at the phrase. "So what am I going to do? I'm still in high school, I have no money, am I just supposed to live on the streets?"_

"_During our sessions over the past couple years, we've talked about your goals and plans. Look, I even have them in your file." He began to pull out worksheets and documents from the bi-monthly meetings we'd have, laying them out in front of me as if they held all the answers._

"_Yeah, but flow charts and activity sheets aren't going to feed and house me once I'm cut loose."_

_He picked up a particular packet and slid it closer to me. "Remember this one? We talked about life skills necessary for independence, including applying for jobs and budgeting. You filled out the activity perfectly."_

"_Of course I did, you fed me the answers. Look, I'm not retarded, I know I'm fucked once I'm kicked out of foster care. You guys can do this in good conscience? Set kids up for failure and be able to sleep at night while they're drugging or whoring because they're legally an adult now and the state wants nothing to do with them?"_

_My caseworker sighed, sweeping my papers into a neat pile. "It's not that we don't want to help, we can't. We don't have the resources. There are around 500,000 kids in foster care at a given time, to sponsor half a million kids until they're ready to fly the coop is unrealistic. I'm sorry."_

"_So you admit it, I'm fucked."_

"_There are a few organizations that exist to help kids who have aged out the system. The thing is, there's no guarantee they'll help you. Like us, they have limited resources, too. I can give you a printout of their phone numbers and websites if you'd like."_

_I buried my face into my hands. I wanted to sob, I was tired of everything. But instead, I let it manifest into anger. "No, it's fine," I grumbled. "I don't need anything from anybody."_

"_You'll be okay as long as you stay out of trouble. Remember, there's no more juvenile hall, Axel. These are the big leagues. If you fuck up now, you'll wind up spending your life in a prison cell giving handies for an extra bologna sandwich. Find a job, finish school, keep your head down, stay at a homeless shelter if you have to. It's not glamorous, but it's better than the streets or couch-surfing. Get your life together, I know you can do it. You're a smart kid."_

_He sent me on my way as I silently fumed at the injustice of it all. _

_When my birthday came, I was out on the street with nothing but a backpack of belongings. I considered listening to my caseworker's advice to take up residence at a shelter, but I didn't have it in me to stoop that low, yet I unironically slept on a park bench until a park employee told me to scram. I never returned to school, I hated that place. And I had no friends, so I was all alone in the world, just another sad statistic. _

_So, I called up Xigbar and started selling drugs. If I was just going to be a statistic, I was going to be damn good at it._

* * *

"Axel, I'm sorry if I came off accusatory yesterday. I didn't mean to."

"It's whatever," I shrugged.

Like most days, Anastasia drove me to my community service. Usually, talking was at a minimum, just because neither of us wanted to deal with the awkwardness that early in the morning. But today she must've felt particularly chatty.

"I just worry about Roxas, that's all."

"Yeah." I picked at my cuticles. "I'm surprised he's not more fucked up with what happened to his real mom and all."

"He told you about her?"

"Uh, briefly. She died giving birth to him, right?"

She nodded solemnly. "There were… a lot of complications. It's heartbreaking, isn't it?"

"Well, if she hadn't died, you wouldn't be living this comfortable, now would you? Isn't Mr. Henley the reason why you're the successful suburban housewife you are today? Her death is sad, I guess. But you can't lie and say you didn't directly benefit from it."

"That's an awful thing to think, Axel."

"Eh." I guess I am an awful person.

I closed my eyes and thought about how much different my life would be if Anastasia had died giving birth to me. Would it even be different? I still would've wound up a ward of the state, but at least I would've grown up without any ill-will or abandonment issues.

But then, I'd never would've met Roxas.

Why did my mind immediately jump to that?

I broke the silence and asked, "Hey, Ana, what is your stance on the gays?"

"What?"

"You know, homosexual people. You down with the queers and lezzies?"

"I have no issue, why? Is this your way of trying to tell me you're gay, Axel?"

"Labels are lame, but I eat both the taco and the hot dog, sometimes in one sitting if I'm really hungry," I stated nonchalantly. I've always just liked who I liked and fucked who I fucked without thinking too hard about it.

"It doesn't bother me, as long as you're happy."

I thought about the conversation over breakfast, how she and Mr. Henley held their children to much higher standards than they'll ever hold me. I knew I was about to tread dangerous waters, but I went for it anyway. "What if Roxas was gay?"

"Roxas has a girlfriend. But even if he was gay, I'd love him the same."

"Would you? What if Kairi was gay, too?"

"Oh, I'd kick her out in a heartbeat."

I furrowed my brows in confusion and gave her an incredulous look. She turned to me with her lips in a hard line and her face as serious as I'd ever seen it. But then it dissolved and she let out a hearty laugh. "I'm kidding, Axel. I can have fun, too. As long as my children are happy, they can love who they love. My parents were really homophobic, I could never be that way."

"Are your parents still alive?" I briefly wondered what it'd be like to have grandparents, a couple of smelly bigoted elderlies who cook well and tell stories about the wars or whatever. In her book, she spoke of getting kicked out of her parents' house as a teen due to flagrant drug use, but I imagine it's because she was pregnant with me.

"Yes, they are. I haven't spoken to them in many, many years though."

"They kicked you out when you got knocked up, huh?"

She sighed sadly. "Yes."

"So you didn't start doing drugs until after?"

"I'm from Ohio. After they kicked me out, I hitchhiked my way to New York City. But living there as a pregnant fifteen year old without a cent to my name was unrealistic, so I wound up in the upstate. I did things I'm not proud of to get by and I became reliant on substances to numb myself."

"Why not just stay close to friends and family? I'm sure your parents would've come around. They were probably just upset in the heat of the moment."

"My parents weren't nice people. I brought them shame. We lived in a very small town, so they just couldn't hide the fact that their youngest daughter was pregnant out of wedlock. They wanted me gone, and I wanted the same."

I frowned at the thought of parents who would just disown their kid over one mistake. "So, what about my dad?"

A tension hung in the air.

"He's not your dad, Axel."

"I mean, I'm no scientist or nothing, but it takes a man and woman to make a kid. If he made me, that means he's my—"

"He's not, Axel," She growled sternly through gritted teeth with a hostility I didn't think she was capable of. "He's nothing. Not to me or to you." She took a sharper turn than necessary into the park parking lot.

Her reaction left me thinking that it was a wound that had not yet healed. Her life was ruined when he got pregnant, but his probably wasn't affected in the least. I wondered if he even knew about me, but I was afraid to ask. I wondered if he was still in Ohio, and I wondered if he had a family of his own now, too. I wondered if I'd ever meet him.

Anastasia reached for a handkerchief from the glove compartment and dabbed at her eyes. I had caused so many tears that day and it wasn't even noon yet. "I'm sorry, Ana, I didn't mean to upset you…" Why was crying my ultimate weakness?

"You didn't. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

Who was she trying to convince? Me, or herself?

* * *

I threw myself on to my bed to hear my bones creak with sweet relief. Park duties today included lugging huge bags of heavy mulch, so my muscles, a stranger to strenuous activity, throbbed and ached.

"Note to self," I said aloud, "Start working out."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, prepared to nap until dinner time. That is, until I was intrigued by a foreign voice down the hall. A boy's voice.

"Can you believe it? We're almost done with school. I can't wait to never wear a tie again," he said, preceding a hearty chuckle.

"Aren't you going to school for business? You'll be wearing a lot more ties, Sora," Roxas responded, not nearly as amused.

Sora. The name was familiar.

I rolled out of bed and tiptoed to my door which I had left ajar. Peering out into the hallway, I saw Roxas and his acquaintance walking towards his bedroom. The boy was clearly a classmate, dressed in the same uniform, only he had taken off his tie and draped it around his neck. He was small like Roxas, with messy brown hair and large blue eyes exuding optimism.

"Then I'll invest in clip-ons. Real ties make me feel like I'm being strangled. It's like, a metaphor or something."

They disappeared inside the room, where the rest of their conversation became muffled.

I remembered suddenly that Sora was, according to Kairi, Roxas's best friend. And it was strange to think of Roxas having a best friend, considering he wasn't the easiest person to get along with. This Sora kid must've been a real saint.

Feeling audacious, I made my way to Roxas's bedroom door and knocked. "It's me," I announced. "I have something here you might want."

There was grumbling and shuffling on the other side before the door was inched open to reveal a slice of Roxas's annoyed face. "What is it, Axel?"

"My company."

He slammed the door.

"Rude!" I called out.

Suddenly the door reopened, except this time, it was Sora.

"Hi," he greeted jubilantly, giving me a toothy grin. "You must be Axel. I'm Sora. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand. I cautiously took it and we awkwardly shook hands, except he didn't seem to pick up on the awkwardness. He was very perky. I wasn't a huge fan of perky.

Behind him, Roxas sighed. "He's too nice for his own good," he told me. "I could've told him you were an axe-wielding murderer and he'd still be cordial. I mean, I told him all about you, and look at him. Unfazed."

"He seems nice, Roxas," Sora insisted.

"I am nice."

"We we're just about to study. Want to help?"

"No," Roxas deadpanned before I could answer. "He doesn't know the material."

"He doesn't need to know the material if he can read. He can quiz us using our notes. You can read, right, Axel?"

I scratched at my chin. "Uh, I think so."

Roxas sighed. "Do you want to help us, Axel? Don't feel obligated, it's a pity thing."

"It's not pity!" Sora exclaimed. "I just figured you wanted to hang out."

It was already clear that Sora was a lot more pleasant than Roxas. "I appreciate it, but I'm good. I just wanted to harass Roxas a little. It's out of my system, I'll piss off now."

Sora snorted. "You're pretty funny, Axel. Maybe in a bit, we can all grab a bite to eat. We can bring Kairi, too."

Roxas rolled his eyes.

"Sure, I'd love to." I said, looking directly at Roxas as I did. He looked annoyed.

Did Sora know about us, I wondered.

* * *

"Mmm, bes' pi-sa in tha worl'," Sora moaned with a big mouthful of greasy molten cheese while his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head from ecstasy. He swallowed noisily. "I love this place." He had brought us to an old pizza parlor in the center of town. It didn't seem like the type of place a rich kid would frequent, with its kitschy checkered vinyl table colors and large statue of a fat chef standing outside the door, but from what I gathered, he and Roxas came here often.

"I wish they delivered," Kairi added, slapping another slice onto her plate. "I could eat this forever."

"Do you guys, like, not eat enough pizza or something?" I asked them, raising my eyebrows. "It's not that special." It wasn't gross or anything, it just tasted like every other hole-in-the-wall pizzeria.

"What are you talking about?" Sora looked at me like I just told him I hate kittens. "It's the best! Antonio makes the best pizza." As if on cue, one of the pizza chefs came over and greeted him and Roxas by name, offering us spumoni on the house when we finished our pie. Sora chatted animatedly with him for a minute or two before he excused himself back to the kitchen.

It was weird, over-privileged rich kids voluntarily eating cheap shitty pizza. It was such a normal thing, yet strange when they did it.

Roxas who had been quiet for most of our outing, piped up. "It's nice to come here and just… not care."

Kairi nodded in agreement. "When I get my license and car, I'm going to come here every day."

"You'll get fat," Roxas told her.

"It'll be worth it."

"Oh, shoot," Sora said, a sad look of realization on his face, "We should've invited Xion. She loves this place too. Come to think of it, she wasn't in school today. Is she okay?"

I pressed my lips into a hard line and took a few gulps of my soda so that the carbonation would hold down any sass I wanted so badly to expel.

"Yeah." Roxas looked down at his plate that was littered with pizza crust. I never trusted people who don't eat the crust. "She's fine. She wasn't feeling too good yesterday so I guess she took the day off."

"Maybe we can order a couple slices to go and drop them off at her house," Sora suggested. How could someone so thoughtful choose to spend so much of their time with a dickhead like Roxas?

"A nice gesture, but she should probably rest and eat healthy food."

So Roxas hadn't told Sora anything. Not about Xion, at least. But it'd be crazy to think Roxas would divulge to anyone about us when he didn't even want to acknowledge it most of the time. Why did I like Roxas so much? He was cute, sure, but aside from that his redeeming qualities were few and far between. And why did he like me? I wasn't attractive at all, and I was crass and poor.

All of a sudden, I could feel a stare on me. It was Sora. He was watching me with a small smile. "I like your eyes," he said when I met his gaze. "Like, I really like them. They're beautiful." The compliment aroused the immediate attention of the two siblings.

"Uhm, thanks?"

Sora let out a yelp and his smiling face transformed into a pained wince. "Ow…" He reached under the table to rub his shin which I assume Roxas had just kicked at under the table. "What did you do that for?"

"Accident," Roxas grumbled. Was that some bitterness I detected in his tone?

Kairi chuckled. "Axel does have very nice eyes, though. They're different than mom's."

"They're just eyes."

"You don't like them?" I asked him, feigning offense. I batted my eyelashes at him for good measure.

Roxas harrumphed.

"You could be totally a model, Axel," Kairi said. "You're tall and thin and have really good cheekbones."

"Models usually have to be attractive and not covered in tattoos," Roxas frowned, getting progressively more upset. At this point, it became a game.

"You think so, Kai?" I started to pose, sucking in my cheeks and puckering my lips. "I'm ready for my close-up," I said in a deep, sultry voice.

Kairi and Sora laughed while Roxas crossed his arms over his chest. Was he jealous that I was the center of attention?

We finished up our pizza and free spumoni and Sora left a fat tip on the table as we got up to leave. It dawned on me that the pizzeria must've been making bank on these kids if they came in every so often and left tips like that every time. We got into Sora's car, a nice dark blue SUV, and began our drive back the house. Sora and Roxas sat in the front, a silence between them, while me and Kairi sat in the back. I was having fun pointing out all the cup holders the car had, while she laughed and tried to suggest a scenario where one backseat passenger would need three drinks.

When we pulled up to the house, it was about seven o'clock. Sora dropped us off and bid us farewell.

Kairi immediately went upstairs to take a shower while I decided to linger downstairs, opting to throw myself on the couch next to Mr. Henley who was watching the nightly news. Roxas followed, taking a seat in the recliner.

"Hey dad," he greeted.

"Hey kiddo, how it's going?"

I suddenly felt like I was intruding on some crucial father-son time. To escape the awkwardness, I went to pull out my phone, only to realize it wasn't in my front pocket. "Shit," I murmured, standing up and feeling around all my pockets.

"Looking for something, Ax?" Mr. Henley asked me.

"Yeah, my phone. I think I left it in Sora's car."

Roxas rolled his eyes. "Hold on, I'll call him and tell him to turn around." He pulled out his own cell and Sora answered on the first ring. "Axel left his phone… uh-huh… Alright. Sorry. Thanks." He hung up the call. "He's turning around now, go wait outside."

With my tail between my legs, I shuffled out the front door. I sat down on the front step, admiring the freshly manicured lawn that traced the cobblestone driveway. Apparently, the Henleys had a gardener that came twice a week in the morning that I was never here for or awake for to see, so every time I was out front, it was like the lawn was magically cut and the bushes were shaped by flower nymphs.

Sora hadn't gotten too far, so within a couple minutes he was pulling back up the driveway. He parked in front of me and rolled down his window. "Hey stranger," he called out.

I stood up and walked over. "Hey, I'm really sorry—"

"It's fine!" He interjected, his smile as big as ever. "It's not a big deal, really. I lose and forget stuff all the time. It's a good thing my head is attached to me or else I probably would've lost it by now," he joked. He presented his hand, with my phone pinched between his index and middle finger.

I went to grab it but he pulled his hand away. "Wait," he said. I quirked an eyebrow at him. "I was wondering if you'd like to hang out sometime. Just you and me."

"Holy shit," I said in realization. "You were hitting on me at the pizzeria. That's why Roxas kicked you." For some reason, when I don't know which emotion I'm supposed to present in social situations, I just laugh uncomfortably. "Why me?"

"Because I like you?" He seemed confused at my question.

"You don't know me."

"I know, silly. That's why we should hang out."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Images of a pissed off Roxas flooded my brain, and a montage of every asshole thing he has said and done played on repeat. I already had sex with his girlfriend, how much worse would it be to date his best friend? When you hit rock bottom, you can't go any further.

"Are you fucking with me? Is this a prank?" I asked him. "Are you and Roxas just going to laugh about this later?"

He shook his head. "I would actually prefer if Roxas didn't know. He's not the most… _understanding _person ever."

"Understatement of the century."

Sora held my phone out to me. "I put my phone number in there already. Call or text me, okay?"

"You do know I'm twenty-five, right? I don't want to go to jail."

"Again," Sora added with a chuckle.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Anyway, I'm eighteen. Technically an adult. So it's 'all good in the hood'."

"Christ."

"So you'll hang out with me?"

"We'll see." I took my phone from his hand. He was smiling brightly, his eyes glimmering. He kind of reminded me of Roxas, in that he had the same boyish charm.

What was it with these private school kids and their attraction to burnouts?

* * *

"What was that about?"

I was shirtless and in the midst of pulling off my jeans when Roxas burst through my bedroom door without knocking.

"Jesus, a little privacy, please?"

He shut the door behind him. "I've seen your penis already. Plus, you have briefs on."

"That's not the point, at all."

"Are you going to answer me?"

"I will when you specify."

"You and Sora were talking."

"Were you watching us out the window? Am I not allowed to talk to him? Are you jealous?"

"Leave my friends alone."

"Leave _me_ alone." I kicked my jeans off in his general direction. "Go away so I can take a shower."

Roxas reached behind him and locked the door, his demeanor doing a complete one-eighty. "Shower with me."

I looked at him skeptically. "Are you serious?"

But he was already pulling his shirt off, revealing his toned chest and subtle abs. He sauntered over to me and wrapped his arms around my midsection. When he looked up at me, I wanted to melt. Before I knew it, we were kissing. I reached down and unbuttoned his chinos, helping him step out of them. He led me towards the bathroom door and he pressed me against it. He was taking charge.

"Warm the water," He instructed when we pulled apart. My lust was too potent for me to argue, so I opened the bathroom door and went straight to the knobs on the shower, setting it to a happy medium between warm and scalding. When I returned to the bedroom, Roxas was completely nude, his boxers laying in a heap by his feet.

It was my first time seeing Roxas naked, so I took a moment to admire him, starting from his disheveled blond hair, to his chest and stomach, and then down to his semi-hard cock. He had a tan line from his bathing suit, his milky skin contrasting against his golden tan. My staring made him fidget and blush, all confidence he was exuding earlier instantly evaporating. "S-stop looking," he commanded in a shaky voice.

"Roxas," I said softly.

"W-what?"

"You're gorgeous."

He walked over to me and captured my lips in his. We made our way to the shower and I reached down to peel my own underwear off. Despite already seeing me naked, Roxas still looked as if he hadn't.

I stepped into the shower first, taking one for the team in case the water hadn't fully heated up yet. Luckily, it was just right, and I held the curtain open and beckoned for Roxas to come in, too.

Once we were in, we kind of looked at each other expectantly, not quite knowing what to do next. Roxas's hair flattened in the spray, falling over his eyes. I pushed his fringe away so I could look into his eyes which looked even brighter under the bathroom's fluorescents. He crinkled his nose at me, probably because I was staring a little too hard.

He laced his fingers through mine and smiled. "I like you, Axel," he said, having to speak up over the water.

"Only sometimes."

"All the time," he disputed. "I'm just not good with feelings."

"No shit," I laughed.

"Do you like me?"

"That's a dumb question to ask while you're naked in my shower." I leaned down and planted a kiss on his wet forehead. "I like you when you're being nice, like this."

His finger began to trace figure eights on my sternum, over my shitty tattoo of a calavera skull, as he averted his gaze. "It's hard."

I raised my eyebrows. "Your dick?"

"No, you pervert. It's hard to… to do this."

"To be nice?"

"To be honest with myself."

"Your mood swings are beginning to be too much," I admitted. "Either you like me or you don't, you gotta pick one and stick to it. If you're gonna be all lovey-dovey now, you better not act like a witch's tit tomorrow morning."

He sighed, hanging his head down, watching the torrents of water flow past our feet. "Okay," he finally said. "You're right."

I angled his chin up with my hand and kissed him on the lips this time.

"Axel, this is probably going to sound really stupid, but can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Can you…" He trailed off, struggling for either the words or the courage.

"Can I what?"

"Can you promise that you'll only do this with me…?"

"Do what? Take showers? I dunno, I like taking showers by myself."

"No, I mean, don't do stuff like this with anybody else… but… me."

Roxas looked so fragile and innocent when he said it, and I figured it was because he was putting his insecurities on full display. He was shattering his harsh exterior and showing me he did have emotions other than anger, annoyance, and arousal.

"I haven't had sex since—" I stopped myself from saying her name. "It's been awhile. I don't suddenly have people banging down the door to get in line to fuck me. Well, besides you," I teased.

"Promise me."

"I promise I won't do anything with anyone else, Roxas. But you have to promise you'll be nicer to me and will stop doing that whole 'nothing happened' bullshit you like to do."

He mulled it around in his head for a few seconds. "Deal," he said, presenting his pinkie finger to me. I looked at it for a few seconds before realizing what it is he wanted. I interlaced my pinkie with his and gave it a couple shakes. It was such a childish gesture, so unlike Roxas to do. I couldn't remember the last time I pinkie promised someone.

If Roxas was this sweet and demure all the time, he'd probably be a happier person. Hell, we'd all be happier people.

"Well, while we're in here, we might as well do actual shower stuff," I said, reaching for the bottle of shampoo.

Roxas laughed. It was a sound I would never get tired of. "Yeah, I guess."

Going back to my previous thought about Roxas and everyone being happier if he was sweet all the time, I realized then he wouldn't be Roxas, he'd just be like another Sora.

Sora.

Suddenly, I realized this wasn't about Roxas liking me, this was about him being jealous. I was stupid to think Roxas had finally turned a corner. He was used to having everything he wanted, and Sora coming onto me threatened that. He must've been listening to our conversation outside, or must've still had Sora's flirtatious compliment on the forefront of his mind. Jealousy was the motivator here.

Upon my realization, I set the shampoo bottle down, noticing that Roxas had been staring at me while I thought in silence.

"Axel?"

"You're such a piece of shit," I sighed. "Get out."

"What?" He asked, completely flabbergasted. "What did I do?"

"You're just afraid I might take Sora up on his offer and realize he's a lot more pleasant and fun to be around than you'll ever be. Or maybe you're afraid Sora will like me more than you."

"What are you talking about? Sora? What's he got to do with anything?"

"Don't play stupid, it doesn't suit you. I know you were listening to us outside, and how Sora likes me."

"Sora likes everyone, Axel," he spat. "And no, I wasn't listening to your conversation. I just noticed you were out there for a while so I was afraid you and Sora were talking about me because I'm insecure garbage, okay?"

I chewed on my bottom lip. The water was starting to get cold.

"I'm not jealous of Sora, and I definitely won't be if you date him because why would I be jealous of someone who wastes their time on a criminal who has the emotional capacity of a worm." He shoved me and I had to grab onto the shower curtain rod to prevent myself from slipping. "You really think I'm in here trying to tell you how much I like you because I'm afraid Sora will steal you away?"

I didn't know what to say.

"But thanks for telling me. Now I know what awful taste Sora has." He pulled open the shower curtain and stepped out, grabbing a big towel from the shelf. "I was so stupid to think you actually liked me. You're just a pervert who puts your dick in everything your conscience will allow. So go ahead, fuck Sora, what does it matter. You already fucked Xion. Who's next? My dad? Mom? Kairi? Aunt Hilda?"

"You're disgusting," I told him.

"You clearly have some sort of complex when it comes to sex, so maybe you should sort that out," he said mockingly.

I clambered out of the shower, not even bothering to turn the water off. The open shower curtain was leading to a huge puddle on the floor that I didn't notice. "You want to take about complexes, maybe you should look in the mirr—"

Before I could finish my sentence, slipped in the puddle, my feet sliding forward out from under me. I could feel myself falling backwards but I had nothing to grab onto. In those last split seconds, I looked to Roxas's face, his expression going from virulent to concerned. In slow motion, I watched him try to reach out for me, but it was too late. I hit my head on the front of the tub and I was out.


	12. chapter eleven

**!PLEASE READ!** This chapter contains mentions of sexual assault. It is not graphic, fetishized, or used for gratification, but I don't want to make anyone upset or uncomfortable if they want to avoid this topic. Reading fan fiction should be an enjoyable experience, and I don't want to ruin it for anybody.

* * *

**A/N:** Hi friends. There's a lengthier author's note at the end of the chapter. Feel free to read it, feel free to not. Take care.

* * *

chapter eleven;  
**green-eyed monsters**

* * *

There was a steady beeping by my ear. A sign of life.

Had I been reborn anew? Or did heaven smell like hand sanitizer?

I slowly opened my eyes, my head throbbing, a faint nausea bubbling in the pit of my stomach. Around me was a blurry white room. I blinked profusely trying to bring everything into focus. I was in a hospital by the looks of it, no heaven for me.

A large nurse waddled around the room, a fresh bag of saline in her dimpled hand, as she hummed a soft tune to herself. She walked around to the side of the bed and fiddled with my IV drip, paying no mind to the groggy mass next to her. I cleared my throat and she startled, nearly dropping the bag but was luckily able to grab it by the plastic tubing.

"Oh, honey," she said in a southern drawl. I wondered how a southerner wound up all the way up here. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," I told her, my voice hoarse. "Am I dying?" I was only half-joking.

She laughed and patted my shoulder. "Nah, you just took a spill and conked your noggin. Nothing serious, just a concussion and a bump. You were out all night, but it seemed more like you were in desperate need of a good night's rest more than anything. How're you feeling?"

I rubbed the back of my head, feeling the knot the nurse mentioned. I tried to piece together what happened to me, but all I could remember was Roxas coming into my room being accusatory, and then him standing before me without any clothes. There were gaps, and I didn't know how either of those things led to me hitting my head or winding up in the hospital.

"Any amnesia?" She asked. I was going to accuse her of reading my mind, but then I remembered she was a nurse, and that it's her job to know what happens when you 'conk your noggin'.

"A little, yeah," I admitted. "I don't remember falling."

"Your brother said you fell getting out of the shower. He heard you holler and came in to help you."

More pieces came back to me. Wet Roxas, his dark blond hair falling over his eyes. We showered together.

"Oh."

"Mhmm, it's a good thing he heard you." She swapped out the saline bags and grabbed at my arm to make sure my IV was still secure. "We just need to do an MRI and make sure everything is still in order. You do know who you are, right?"

"I'm Axel," I said. "Axel Novak."

"Good," she smiled warmly. "Are ya hungry? You've only had your drip for the past twelve hours. I can go grab you some breakfast."

"I hate hospital food," I told her. "It always tastes like a shoe."

She pondered for a moment. "The girls at the nursing station brought in some donuts. I can nab a couple for you if you'd like, hun."

"A woman after my own heart."

* * *

I was biting into a Boston cream donut when Anastasia came into my room, her heels click-clacking on the tile. She was apparently in no hurry to get to the hospital, as she took her time to get dolled up. "Axel," she exhaled, sounding relieved. "How're you feeling?"

"I've been better." I shoved the rest of the donut into my mouth and licked the excess chocolate from my fingers.

"The doctor told me your MRI came back fine. But they still want to hold you until tomorrow, just in case."

"Yeah, Mable told me."

"Mable?"

With sticky fingertips, I pointed to the dry-erase board on the wall that held my information, including the nurse responsible for me. "She brought me donuts and coffee. I think I'm in love with her. She's got an ass like a Georgia peach."

"I could've brought you food, Axel. You didn't have to bother the nurse."

I shrugged. "I didn't think we were at the point in our relationship where I can call you up and ask for a McMuffin."

"Well, I am your mother, and it's a mother's job to make sure her kid is fed. I've failed at that before, but I won't ever again. You're very thin and I have a strange maternal need to fatten you up."

"I've always been underweight," I told her, since she couldn't have known for sure. "I eat junk all the time but I'm still a bony fuck. High metabolism, I guess."

"Well, you didn't get that from me," she laughed. "I gain weight very easily."

It felt strange to have such a lighthearted conversation, but I liked it. She pulled up one of the chairs to the side of the hospital bed and sat, setting her expensive leather purse on the floor.

"Roxas was the one who called the ambulance, you know. He heard you yell and bang against something so he ran into your room. You slipped getting out of the shower and hit your head on the tub."

"Yeah, I heard. He sure is some hero, huh?"

"He was worried about you, Axel. You should've seen his face. He looked like he had just seen a ghost."

I remembered more. I remembered being angry. I remembered telling Roxas to get out. Did he try to kill me by pushing me out of the shower?

"Maybe it was because he had to see me naked," I played along.

"I doubt he looked," she said, as if her insistence was supposed to be a comfort.

"You mean not everyone wants to see my mass of red pubes? Thanks for those, by the way."

With a smile, she reached out for the hair on my head, which was messy and ratted from me being laid on my back while it was still wet. "You do have my hair color. Not my curls though. If you don't like the red, why do you dye it even more red?"

"I don't dislike it. I just like this shade of red. And now it's like, part of my identity or something."

"Your roots are coming in," she noted.

"Yeah, I have to touch it up when I get back to the house."

We sat in a silence that wasn't exactly uncomfortable. She continued to stroke my hair, inspecting the gradient of orange to fire-engine red, from root to tip.

"Did you really just come here to visit me?" I finally asked her.

"Of course. They told me you were awake so I came to make sure you were alright."

"That was nice of you."

She sighed sadly. "Axel… I want to talk to you. Since it's just the two of us here, I figured this is as best a time as ever. If you're down to talk, that is."

"What is it you want to talk about?" I dully asked, half-expecting another lecture or maybe an eviction notice.

With a deep breath, she said, "I want to tell you about the man that fathered you."

My heartbeat hitched and the heart monitor gave it away. This was a moment I had been waiting for all my life. To finally learn about my father. "Okay," I said, trying to retain my composure. For so long, I had felt like a huge piece of the puzzle was missing, and now here it was about to be pushed into place after being hidden between couch cushions for so long.

"Before I begin, I want to warn you that you'd be better off not knowing about him. But I know it isn't fair to keep you in the dark about where you came from. After everything that has happened, you deserve to know."

"I figured he was a deadbeat," I told her. "I'm not expecting he's someone worthwhile."

She grimaced, but it was otherwise hard to read her expression. "I was a good Catholic girl," she began. "Like I told you before, my parents were very strict. I wasn't as devout as my parents, being a typical fifteen year old, but I was still well-behaved. It was a small town, and my family was well-known. I had six brothers, and three sisters, most of whom had jobs within the church. Basically, I knew better."

Anastasia didn't seem very religious anymore, but I remembered praying with her as a little kid.

"Anyway, there was a guy at school. He was a senior while I was only a sophomore, and I was as smitten as a teenaged girl could be. I would doodle our initials covered in hearts and fantasize about having a cute yellow house in a cul-de-sac together. He was a football player, as cliché as it sounds, and he had these stunningly green eyes. The kind of eyes that you could never forget."

I already knew I had his eyes. Without thinking, I reached up and touched beneath them.

"Strangely, he liked me, too. He would take me to the movies, and to this burger joint with the best strawberry milkshakes, and he'd let me wear his letterman jacket," she continued. "As I'm sure you can imagine, I wasn't very popular. But there I was, dating one of the most popular guys in school. I don't know how high school hierarchy works in this day and age, but back then, it was a big deal. My parents, of course, forbade me from seeing someone who wasn't from the church, so I would lie and say I was at the library or with friends whenever he would take me out. For the longest time, I thought what happened was punishment for my sins."

I immediately thought of Aurora, the girl I lost my virginity to, with her cable-knit sweaters, hair ribbons, and the gold cross she wore around her neck.

"One day, we were under the bleachers of the football field. His team had just won a game against the rival school. He was so happy, and I was happy for him. Basking in his glory, he tried to convince me to sleep with him, you know, in celebration. We had been seeing each other for a few weeks, and, to him, that was long enough. But despite my sins, I still wanted to do right by God and my parents, so I turned him down. He threatened to break up with me, and whereas I knew I would be heartbroken, I accepted it." Her eyes watered and I got an awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I was a good Catholic girl right to my core. And that made me an easy target, I guess. When he couldn't get what he wanted through manipulation, he got it through force."

"You mean, he…"

"Yes." She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "It's all he ever wanted. The virginity of the loser religious girl. Weeks of pretending to like me, only to get fed-up when my morals withstood his charm. When he was finished, he laughed at me. Told me his friends owed him twenty bucks. There was a pool going to see how long it would take." I expected her to break down right there, but she steadied herself and exhaled slowly. "I went home and prayed and sobbed. I couldn't tell my parents, I couldn't tell my friends, I couldn't tell anyone. I felt like if I pretended it didn't happen, God would forgive me. But then—"

"You were pregnant."

She nodded. "Yes. I was pregnant. Word had already gotten out that I had lost my virginity, and, of course, the rumors painted it as consensual. So, I told my parents, I told them I was forced and that it wasn't my fault. But they called me a disgrace, a whore."

"Fuck," I uttered, my eyes wide, still processing all the information.

"They wanted me gone," she said, "So, I left. I never spoke to him after what he did to me, and my parents couldn't let the word get out that I was pregnant, so he didn't know. Chances are he still doesn't know."

"Why didn't you just get an abortion?" I knitted my brows.

"I couldn't even entertain that idea. I believed life began at conception. And I told myself I'd love you, despite everything."

I asked her, my voice quiet, "And did you?" But I already knew the answer.

"I tried. But you have his eyes. And every time I would look in them, I would see him. It drove me crazy. There were nights where I would stand over your small body, praying that God would take you away from me while you peacefully slept."

For the first time, I sympathized with Anastasia, my mother. Even more so, I admired her. I admired her attempt to single-handedly raise her rapist's baby. And I also felt like the epitome of personified garbage. I was nothing more than a physical reminder of the worst moment of her life, and yet here she was, trying to love me and make up for the years I spent orphaned, and I fought against her every step of the way. I forced myself back into her life, I made her relive the nightmares she wanted nothing more than to escape from, I intentionally tried to make her life hell, when her only mistake was trying to love me and failing.

Before I knew it, I was crying. "Don't be upset," she crooned, putting her hand against my cheek to catch the falling tears. "It's not your fault, Axel. You didn't deserve any of this. I should've been stronger for you, but I was weak. I'm stronger now, Axel. Let be there for you now."

Suddenly, my sadness ebbed into anger. "What's his name?" I asked her.

"Axel… Leave it be. You don't need to know him. You don't need to find him or seek revenge. He's not worth the effort or the anger. It was twenty-five years ago."

"I want to know his name."

She considered it for a second before shaking her head. "I can't, Axel. He's not important, his name doesn't belong in either of our minds."

"I have his last name, don't I?" Anastasia's hesitation answered my question. Part of me assumed I had my father's last name, but I was also operating under the assumption that he ditched us because he didn't want the responsibility and not that he was just a disgusting piece of shit rapist. "Why didn't you just give me your last name? Or, fuck, just make one up?"

"I was fifteen, Axel... I didn't give it thought. I just knew that babies get their father's surname. I didn't fully understand what had happened to me. I knew I didn't want it, that I was forced, but I didn't understand what it meant. When I gave birth to you and the judgmental nurse placed you into my arms and asked for your name, sneering at the fact I was still a child myself, I named you the first thing that popped into my head. Axel. Axel Novak."

"I don't want his name."

She pursed her lips and slumped forward. "I'm sorry."

"What's his first name?"

"Richard," she uttered.

"Dick Novak," I scoffed. "How fucking fitting."

"Promise me you won't try to find him, Axel," she pleaded. "I've never sought him out, and I don't intend to. He can die with the guilt of what he's done and answer to whatever higher power exists. I've made my peace."

"Do you think he's seen your book?" I asked her. Her memoir contained nothing about being raped, the same way it lacked any mention of me. Maybe she felt that if she didn't write it, she could pretend it never happened. My stomach churned.

"I doubt I made as big of an impact on him that he's made on me. It wouldn't surprise me if he doesn't even remember my name or my face."

"Does Mr. Henley know about all this?"

"Yes. He was my psychiatrist before we started dating, so he knew everything about me beforehand. And he still loved me despite it all." She smiled at the thought of her husband. "Maybe it's a strange thought, but, in the end, I'm happy with the way everything turned out. A lot of fuck-ups and hardships in my life led me to where I am now—to success. If I had stayed in Ohio and lived my life how my parents wanted, I would've been in a loveless marriage with children who I'd treat the same way my parents treated their children. Instead I'm in love, and I have three beautiful children, even if I screwed one up, he still turned out wonderful. You're nothing like Richard. That was my biggest fear, that somehow his evil was hereditary. But no, you're different. You're Axel. And I love you."

'You're nothing like Richard' echoed in my mind. I thought of every person I slept with, every chauvinistic thought I've had, all the people I'd convinced to have sex to me, everyone I'd used so I could get off. She said it with conviction, but she couldn't possibly know. I wasn't a rapist in the traditional sense, but what if I was still a monster? What if I had fucked someone who didn't really want it, or who had regretted it? What if he and I weren't so different?

My mind went back to Aurora. Sweet Aurora. How many parallels were there between her and Anastasia?

"Axel?" She broke me out of my reverie. I was in a cold sweat. "Are you alright?"

"Am I a monster?" I asked her.

"No," she said. "You're my son."

* * *

"Axel!" Kairi squealed as she skipped through the doorway and made her way over the hospital bed so she could throw herself over the edge and wrap her arms around my torso. "You're alive!" She scrunched up her nose, recoiling slightly. "And you smell like hospital."

"Weird, I figured sitting in here for two days would leave me smelling like a Yankee candle."

She laughed heartily as another person shuffled into the room. I was expecting it was the nurse with my discharge papers, but it was Roxas instead.

"Hey," he greeted uncertainly, putting his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants. He lingered by the door. "Um, Kairi and I are your chaperones home. I hope you don't mind. It was supposed to be just me, but—"

"But Roxas doesn't deserve to have all the fun," she beamed.

"I'm just happy to get out of here."

"We've missed you at home. These past couple days have been so lame," Kairi said. "And Roxas hasn't really left his room, I think he missed you too."

Roxas shot her a glare. "Why don't you go get Axel's papers from the nurses since you wanted to tag along so bad," he deadpanned.

"Fine, fine." She slid off the bed and made her way to the door, stopping only to stick her tongue out at Roxas before stomping out.

Once her footsteps faded down the hall, Roxas made his way closer to bed but still kept his disposition pretty distant. "Are you okay?" He asked with genuine concern, which didn't suit him very well. "How's your head?"

"So, how long did you leave me on the floor before getting help?" It only took a few hours after waking up the previous day for my memories from our shower argument to come back to me, so I was very aware of the situation.

"Not long…"

"Just long enough for you to casually slip out, dry off, and get dressed? Did you style your hair and press your pants, too? Did you have time to make yourself a snack?"

"You're forgetting a few minutes of panic and trying to come up with a plan that wouldn't incriminate either of us."

"Are you not even going to apologize?"

"Axel, you slipped. It wasn't my fault. You were being a jerk, but I didn't intentionally try to fracture your skull. I have nothing to apologize for." He crossed his arms over his chest. "If anything, you should apologize to me."

I scoffed, disbelieving of his audacity. "You're really something else, Roxas. Do you even listen to yourself when you talk?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could sass back, Kairi returned with the nurse from yesterday in tow. They were oblivious to our spat, smiling and laughing about something unrelated. "Are you ready to go home, Axel?" The nurse asked me. And I was more than ready. Hospitals sucked.

After my papers were signed and I was given an information packet about concussions, we were in Roxas's car, beginning the fifteen minute drive back to the house. I had nothing so say, so I let Kairi do all the talking. She told me about the time she broke her arm when she was eight after falling off of the diving board they apparently used to have in the pool but removed shorty after. Roxas grumbled about missing that diving board.

"He went through a phase where he wanted to be an Olympic diver," she explained.

From the corner of my eye, I glared at Roxas. And I couldn't help but imagine him in an American flag printed speedo doing acrobatics off of a diving board.

When we pulled up the house, I wasn't expecting to do much except lounge and take it easy as per the doctor's orders. But as we approached the front door, an excitement emanated off of Kairi. Inside, I was suddenly bombarded with the sight of a bunch of balloons and a banner hanging above the entryway that said 'Get well soon!' in large red letters. Anastasia and Mr. Henley came in from the kitchen, the former holding a plate with a small cake that had what looked like a poorly drawn figure with a bandage on his head in frosting.

"Welcome home," Anastasia greeted. "I hope you don't mind vanilla. I did the baking, but Kairi did the decorating."

"Hey, I helped," Mr. Henley piped up. "I licked the spoon."

"Do you like it?" Kairi asked me, nudging at my side while peering at the cake she was so proud of.

It was a strange gesture. Was this something people normally did? Make a cake for someone who nearly broke their head?

"I love it," I told them. "Thanks." Anastasia smiled at me. A genuine smile that revealed her perfect implanted teeth. It seemed like our talk the previous day had relieved her of a lot of torment, but it had the opposite effect on me. I was a rape baby, and now I felt like that title was branded on my forehead. "I'm going to go shower and change and then I'll come down for cake. Don't worry, I won't slip this time."

"We'll be down here when you're ready," Mr. Henley said, giving me a pat on the shoulder.

Up in my room, I began to peel out of the clothes that I'm assuming someone randomly grabbed when I was taken to the hospital, and thus were mismatched. I wanted to wash away the sterility of the hospital and change into an outfit that didn't make me look like I was dressed by a colorblind toddler. In the bathroom, everything was cleaned and there was no evidence that anything had happened in there, aside from a new rug in front of the tub to prevent a reoccurrence. I rubbed the back of my head and thought about the argument that took place, where I had accused Roxas of being affectionate only because he was afraid I'd be more interested in his best friend.

I sighed heavily.

After my completely normal shower, I dressed and laid on my bed which had been made in my absence by assumedly Ivana. My linens smelled freshly washed and they smelled so good that I wanted to stay with my face buried in them until my life started making sense again. Part of me missed being a stain on society, a no-good bitter miscreant, a punk, a kid who could blame all his issues on his shitty childhood. Even surrounded by luxuries now, I couldn't deny life was easier then. It was simple. I never had to question myself. These past few months felt like a lifetime and I was exhausted.

I rolled onto my side towards my bed table where my cell phone had been sitting untouched since the eventful shower preceding my hospitalization. I grabbed it and was greeted by a screen covered in notifications, mostly texts from Riku since I had texted him every night since I got my phone and my lack of response had probably worried him. As much as he tried to hide it, I knew he cared about me. After going through his messages, I saw I had a text from a different contact. From Sora.

_hey i heard you fell on your head. are you ok? _

The message was from a day ago. I typed a short response and went back to sniffing my bedding. Not too long after, my phone chirped.

_im sorry about what happened. i was just trying to help._

With furrowed brows, I kept rereading the message, trying to decipher the meaning. I texted back a question mark. Was I forgetting something crucial from that night? I waited for a response, and waited, and waited. There was nothing. I was about to text another question mark, maybe two or three to express urgency, but then there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" I called out, not paying too much attention.

"It's me. Do you want to eat your cake up here?"

With a sigh, I tossed my phone to the side and got up so I could open my bedroom door where Anastasia was standing just outside of it. "No, I'm coming down. Sorry to keep you guys waiting."

She reached up and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear, smiling softly. "It's no problem at all."

* * *

It was back to the daily grind shortly after. Back to community service and Roxas and I avoiding each other. I never heard back from Sora, so I never got an explanation for his cryptic message, but I just let it go. My hours were almost up, and I had to figure out what I wanted to do, so I had to try my best to push everything else out of my mind and focus just on that instead. But despite my efforts, sometimes my thoughts were invaded by the man who made up half of my DNA, and how I had been wearing his name for twenty-five years. It made me grit my teeth until they hurt.

"Do you need a suit?" Anastasia asked me over breakfast one morning. I hadn't been paying attention to the conversation preceding, opting to instead focus on making fork trails in the maple syrup that pooled on my plate.

I lifted my head up. "A suit? For what? Did someone die?"

"Graduation!" Kairi cheered, a bite of waffle pushed into her cheek. She swallowed and took a big drink of orange juice. "Roxas is graduating in less than a month. And then he'll be off to Pennsylvania."

"Pennsylvania?" I asked, suddenly engrossed. "What's in Pennsylvania?"

"UPenn is what's in Pennsylvania," Roxas said, his voice monotone. "It's where I'm going to college."

"It's an Ivy League school," Kairi added, clearly more excited about it than he was. "And when Roxas is gone, I get his room. It has a bigger closet than mine."

"Oh," I said, because I wasn't really sure what else to say when we were back to denying our feelings. "Um, congrats?"

"It's old news," he said quickly. "I found out a while ago."

Mr. Henley reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "And we're all still extremely proud of you, Rox."

"So, do you need a suit, Axel?" Anastasia asked again.

"Yeah," I said, an inexplicable emptiness in my chest, "I suppose I do."

Ivana didn't come in until later in the morning, so I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher in her stead since I didn't have to be to the park for another thirty minutes. Everyone else was grateful that I volunteered, but I just wanted something to keep me busy until it was time to go. I was alone in the kitchen until Roxas came back in. I quirked an eyebrow at his presence, but he didn't pay any mind to me. He was too busy looking around and pushing aside clutter.

"Looking for something?"

"Car keys," he deadpanned. "Thought I left them on the counter."

I turned off the sink and wiped my wet hands on the back of my jeans. "Need a fresh set of eyes?"

"Sure, I guess."

I joined him in his search, scanning the countertops. We were at it for only about a couple minutes before he groaned.

"Did you find them?"

"Yeah, they were in my pocket."

"Nice."

"Yeah… It's too early. Thanks anyway." He was about to take his leave before I tugged on his arm. "What?"

"I didn't know you were moving away soon."

"I know the concept of university is foreign to you, but that's what you do. And I didn't tell you because I figured you didn't care. Why would you care? You probably get to live here until you're forty, which is like, what, a couple years from now? You can probably even fight Kairi for my room."

"I know what university is, you fucking turd. I just… I don't know. Wasn't getting into an Ivy League school your big dream or whatever? What you were working so hard for? You could've told me. I would've been happy for you. I _am_ happy for you."

His shoulders slacked and his icy exterior seemed to have thawed a little bit. Did I detect the faintest hint of a smile? "Anyway," he said, "I should get going. I don't necessarily have to go to class anymore, but Kairi does. I don't want her to be late."

"Want to give me a ride, then? You can drop Kairi off and then take me to my community service. I don't want to pretend I don't like you anymore. I miss your pretension and pissy attitude."

"Did it not work out with Sora?"

"I never wanted Sora," I mumbled. "And I'm sorry for what I said in the shower. I disregarded your feelings because of my own insecurities."

"And I'm sorry for…" He trailed off. "I'm sorry for..."

"Are you serious?"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry for my past behaviors and for inadvertently contributing to the events that led up to you nearly spilling your brains all over the bathroom floor. And I'm sorry for not telling you about UPenn. There. Now can you go back to being annoying yet oddly charming and comforting. And now you can forget those words ever left my mouth."

"Do I get a ride from you if I do?"

* * *

There was a knock on the window. I tensed up, subconsciously holding my breath as if that would make me invisible. When there was another knock, I sputtered, failing to suppress a giggle. The third knock, I knew I needed a new plan, so I burrowed into the crook of Roxas's neck. "He's onto us," I whispered. "We have to hide."

Roxas playfully shoved me away. "No, he just wants you, not me. If I give him you he'll leave me alone."

We were in the back seat of his Bentley, I was on all-fours hovering above him, appreciating how surprisingly roomy the back of his car was. After dropping Kairi off at school and taking me to the park, there was a weird lapse, and next thing I know we're making out and getting handsy like a couple of tweens at a drive-in. We ended up in the back seat, the car still running, and now the park manager was knocking on the window because we'd been idling there for about fifteen minutes. Luckily, the windows were heavily tinted, so we were concealed, but the manager probably recognized the car as one of the ones that occasionally dropped me off or picked me up, and now I was running late.

"You'd throw me to the wolves like that? That's harsh, even for you, Roxas."

"Shouldn't you be going anyway? He looks a little mad."

Outside the car, the park manager looked especially moody, which meant my work was going to be especially cruel, like unclogging toilets or scraping old bird shit off the payphones. "I think if I just lay low and don't let him see me he'll eventually go away."

"There's only so low you can lay with me underneath you."

"Is that a challenge?" I lowered most my weight onto him. "I think you just wanted me to get closer to you. If only there weren't all these clothes in the way…"

"You're unbelievable, Axel," he said, his amusement evident in his voice. There was another knock, harder this time. "I would appreciate if he would not break my window open to look for you."

"Ugh, this guy is killing my boner."

"Yeah, just go before you get in trouble."

I looked down at Roxas, at his wrinkled shirt and disheveled hair, at his pink cheeks and nose freckles. He was beautiful. He was so beautiful, and yet, he liked me, of all people. Would he still like me if he knew how I came into existence? He and Kairi were naïve about my conception and probably figured the same that I had all these years; that I was just a product of some deadbeat who was afraid of responsibility, or maybe the spawn of john during her prostitution stint.

Roxas furrowed his eyebrows. "Hey, are you alright? You're just staring off into space."

"M'fine," I said, no hint of emotion in my voice. I maneuvered off of him, which was unsurprisingly more difficult than getting into that position in the first place. We both knocked into each other and bumped limbs trying to sit up, and once we did, we just kind of sat and looked at each other expectantly.

"It will be suspicious if we both get out of the backseat at the same time," Roxas suddenly said, breaking eye contact and clearing his throat. "So, I will just climb back over the seat."

"Why do you like me, Roxas?"

"I feel like I've answered that question several times already."

"And I'll keep asking until understand it."

"Then I guess you'll be asking awhile, since I don't completely understand it either."

* * *

**A/N Part 2: Electric Boogaloo:** I'm going to be honest with you guys, I don't have the same Akuroku feels I once did and writing this story is a chore. But I have every intention of finishing it.

My life is hectic and I have other hobbies that take priority. I used to take pride in my writing, but now I don't have the time or motivation I once did. I've been writing fan fiction since I was ten years old. I'm twenty-one now, which, yes, is still fairly young, but I've been at this for about eleven years. I've been through many fandoms and pen names and accounts, each time trying to rebrand myself and improve without the weight of works that I am embarassed of on my shoulders. Kingdom Hearts is a fandom I've been apart of the longest but as the years go on, my passion for it dwindles more and more, and I realize I've been writing Kingdom Hearts fan fiction for so long that I do it out of comfort more so than anything else.

I will keep writing. Updates will probably still be slow. And hopefully I can re-ignite the spark I once had for this fandom.


End file.
